


Loss of Radiance, Hunt in Darkness

by SteeleStingray



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sex, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteeleStingray/pseuds/SteeleStingray
Summary: Five years after the defeat of King Ashnard, Ike and his company are called back to Begnion for a job at the request of the Apostle Sanaki. She believes in the chaos following the war, her senators have started up their ill-gotten slave trade yet again only this time, their tastes have expanded.Ike accepts the offer and must get his team together and ready before something truly terrible happens...





	1. The Apostle’s Request

**Author's Note:**

> With all the madness on tumblr of people getting into new fandoms, I have fallen into a 'new' one of my own, namely Fire Emblem.  
> Of course I've re-fallen in love with a game that's like $100+ and 14 years old but my love has reached a point where I have to write fic now to get everything out. In this fic, imagine just that Radiant Dawn has not happened yet and it's five years after Path of Radiance (this is just so I could have Zelgius involved in this whole thing).  
> I hope you enjoy this as much as I've liked writing it!

 

Lord Ike of the Greil Mercenary Company never felt at ease in Sienne, the illustrious capital of Begnion.

The polished marble floors only proved to highlight the dirt on his plain leather boots and the silken robes of the inhabitants made him constantly aware of the tattered, bloodstained hem of his cloak. He much preferred the grit and gore of a battlefield, but plenty of practice allowed him to hold his head high as he entered the audience of the apostle of Begnion.  

Sanaki Kirsch Altina, the empress and apostle of Begnion, had not grown much since Ike had seen her last. Perhaps it was the scarlet rug she had constantly draped over her tiny shoulders or the fact that she wore flat leather sandals that did not offer even an extra half inch of height.

She turned her elfin face to him, eyes narrowed, and Ike wondered for a brief, heart-stopping moment if he had been making such astute observations aloud. She sighed deeply.

“You have grown, Commander.” She said in her reedy voice.

As always there was an element of wickedness to her and Ike realized everything he had been thinking was broadcast across his face. Titania and Soren were always warning him about his honest face and he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Erm…yes I suppose I have.”

It would make sense then that she had remained small.

Ike had grown an extra ten inches and filled out into his armor in the five years since he and his mercenary team escorted Princess Elincia into the capital to hold audience with Apostle Sanaki. Where he had once been a twig of a youth, green and inexperienced, he now walked through the elegant gilded halls and people moved from his path, bowing respectfully to the boy who had become a general and the man who had slain a king.

Only a few people knew he wore his titles with a great deal of self-consciousness and he wished at least one of them was here with him. Sigrun, Sanaki’s loyal pegasus knight, smiled at Ike in that reassuring way of hers and he steeled himself.

“My lady. You summoned me here for a matter of great urgency. And,” he cleared his throat wishing Soren was here with him; he was never good when it came to matters of money, “you said that you would be paying--erm, handsomely for my company to deal with said…problem.” Once again he wished for Soren or Titania who were infinitely more eloquent than he was. “I am here to answer said summons.”

Sanaki looked at him levelly, her expression unreadable, before she snorted.

“You have grown but your tact has stayed the same. Wine? Should we have the servants fetch you a chair?”  

Sigrun began to move and Ike panicked a little.

“No no. That…won’t be necessary.” He assured both Sigrun and Sanaki. He also left it unsaid that he did not want to stay longer than was absolutely required. His company was camped half an hour’s ride outside the city and they were awaiting his command. “Please, I await…further command. The erm…the faster we hear what it is that plagues Begnion, the faster we can help you.”

Sanaki giggled again and tossed herself back into one of the elegant high-backed chairs that surrounded her strategy table. “Very well. You’ve made your point clear and you and your men have travelled quite a long way. We also wish to have this matter dealt with immediately.”  

Ike, curiosity aroused, walked to the table.

The map and the accompanying figures carved stone figures across it were of the finest craftsmanship and likely worth half of his Ike’s home in Crimea. He let his fingers trail along the edges of the map, afraid the roughness of his hands would mar the surface.  

Empress Sanaki tapped her bottom lip, perhaps deciding where to begin.

“Sigrun, fetch Tanith and Zelgius.” She commanded without looking up. She did not have to; Sigrun inclined her head and immediately left Sanaki alone with her guest. She cleared the indigo bangs from her eyes before she began again.

“Do you recall five years ago when I sent you to the desert to deal with the illegal cargo that was being trafficked through Begnion?”

Ike thought back. “Yes. That was where we met Tormod and Muarim…and all of those laguz who were,” he remembered what it was exactly that had spurred the fight and his brow furrowed, “angry over laguz being sold to your senate members.” After spending so much time in laguz company, Ike felt acidic fury pooling in his chest at the thought of them being drugged and kept as pets.     

“Good to see your memory is as sharp as your blade.” Sanaki said and Ike could not tell if she was being sarcastic or not. “And it is my great shame to admit that something similar has been brought to my attention again. With improved relations between Gallia and Begnion, I had thought…” She shook her head in disappointment, “Senator Sephiran has told me that he has overheard talk of trafficking both laguz and branded.”

Ike would have liked to say that he was surprised.

But with Begnion’s increasing power and the general haughtiness of the wealthy and powerful in the city, Ike was unfazed by this pronouncement. “Has Senator Sephiran said why?”

“There is a lot of wealth flowing into Begnion with our new alliances and our hand in the ruling of Daein,” Sanaki said, her cheeks flushing a little at Begnion’s ambitious reach within Tellius, “but also most of our attention has been diverted to diplomacy and infrastructure. I take full responsibility but in my neglect, I believe the senators have once again been left too long to their own devices and now they shirk my decrees. It is shameful.”

Ike nodded.

“Your company has helped us with this discreetly in the past.” Sanaki continued. “And I would like to extend a similar offer to you and your mercenaries to find proof of the trade, eliminate the traffickers, and provide a list of names of any buyers.” It sounded like a lot of reconnaissance and work but it also sounded like something his laguz-friendly team would be passionate about.

And Begnion paid well.

Ike kicked himself; he was beginning to sound like Soren and the thought made him smile.

“Normally I would be able to assign some of my own knights to investigate.” Sanaki added quickly. Perhaps she thought Ike’s smile meant he was not taking her offer seriously. “But with all of our resources being stretched across so much land…it would just be easier to take this course of action. And also many are still unfamiliar with your mercenary company.”

The reappearance of Tanith, Zelgius, and Sigrun gave Sanaki pause. Tanith inclined her head. “Commander Ike, well met. Has the Apostle let you know of our problem?” Her speech was stilted in spite of the fact that she and Ike had shared a battlefield several times.

“Deputy commander.” Ike said. “Indeed. It sounds like a lucrative contract for our company and I believe we are interested in accepting such a generous offer. I am a little confused about one aspect: you say that branded are also being targeted?”

Tanith nodded. “May I explain?”

“Go on commander Tanith.” Sanaki said with a wave of her slim hand.

Tanith cleared her throat, clearly pleased that she was allowed to speak. “It is all about the rarity you see. Tigers, cats, hawks, crows and the like are now a common sight after the alliance with Gallia, Phoenicis, and Kilvas. Goldoan dragons are all but impossible to capture and herons are too hard to find, making them the rarest prizes. However, it can be easier to find and capture branded; they maintain their rarity due to the laguz’s old habit of culling them. It is a boon for slavers but a problem for us.”

“Villains.” Zelgius said. “There are even dark spells now to discern a Branded’s laguz heritage.”

Ike nodded. “The herons are safe in Phoenicis. What would be the fate of a Branded of Goldoan lineage?” He took care to keep his tone calm but his fists were shaking.

Zelgius perked up but Sanaki was too quick for him. “Do you know of such a person?”

“Goldoans so rarely interact with humans,” Zelgius murmured to himself, “a child born of such an unusual union would be a rare prize indeed for any collector.”

“If such a person is in your acquaintance,” Sigrun spoke with one of her gentle smiles, “then you would do well to keep them close.”

Ike nodded.

He did not need to be told such a thing. Keeping this hypothetical person close was already second nature to him and if anyone were to attempt to enslave him? Ike suddenly had some very dark thoughts swirling about in his mind.

“I will accept this mission, Empress Sanaki.”  

“Excellent!” The apostle stood and waved her commanders to her side. “Please brief Commander Ike on all your men have heard regarding this matter and make sure his mercenaries are properly equipped for the task. This must be done with all secrecy so make sure no nosy senators get wind of his true purpose here. We would hate for those involved to get fair warning.”

“Empress.” All three Begnions spoke at the same time as Sanaki passed.

“Farewell, Lord Ike.” She responded and Ike inclined his head.

He tried to get his head clear to properly understand all the other information Tanith, Sigrun, and Zelgius could supply but his thoughts were elsewhere. He felt cool waves of concern as he thought of the Branded he knew. Particularly the one person that was very precious to him and the bright red brand emblazoned on his forehead.

Ike wanted to be back at Soren’s side as quickly as he could.

 

That morning, just like any other, Soren had risen before the sun. Ike woke to find him poring over expense reports with a small furrow between his brows as the first rosy slices of morning cut through the flaps of his tent.

Soren did not acknowledge Ike waking, though he did jump as Ike padded over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come with me to Sienne.”

“Thank you, I’d rather die.” Soren’s tone garnered no argument.

“There’s such a nice library there and you are…better with these types of people than I am. I always…say the wrong thing.”

“Please do not misinterpret my eloquence for diplomacy.” Soren said, still refusing to look up. “I hate those ‘types’ of people: spoiled, self-centered, and hopelessly arrogant. If Begnion were a person, you’d step on toes but I’d crush the whole foot. You know I’m not the type to suffer fools.”

“No.” Ike sighed but then smiled. “And yet you suffer me.”

Soren paused and Ike waited for the witty response. “You’re a bit of a special case.”

Not exactly what he had expected but Ike was pleased by the response. “Fine, fine. I’ll go to Sienne on my own. But if I commit some grave error of decency, then I’m placing the blame directly on your shoulders.”

“I’m pissing in my boots.” Soren said, unperturbed.

Ike rolled his shoulders, feeling warmth moving back into his cramped muscles and began to itch for something to do. Of course his first instinct was to bother Soren and his attention was first taken by Soren’s veritable river of long black hair.

Usually he kept it tied back, but this early in the morning, he had left it unbound down his back.

Soren jolted as Ike gathered it in his hands, the fine strands like black silk or water. “What are you doing?”

“Braiding. Used to do it for Mist.”

“I’ve noticed she ties her own hair now.”

“I never said I was good at it.”

“Gods save me.” Soren groaned. Still he did not put up a fight as Ike expertly wove his hair into a single long plait. He placed the coil over Soren’s shoulder and noticed that the flesh was raised on Soren’s neck.  

“You’re cold.” Ike said.

“I’m not.” Soren argued, tensing as Ike wrapped his own blanket around Soren’s shoulders. His friend was so slender, it was probably hard to fight the chill. And the blanket was still warm from Ike. “Thank you.”

“Told you so.”

“How right you are, General.” Soren’s tone was drier than ever and Ike smiled; Soren only ever called him ‘general’ when he was irritated. “Now if you are quite finished bothering me, you might want to locate a shirt and a horse. Unless you plan to walk to Sienne and wish to cause offense by blackening the Apostle’s eye with your bare chest.”

“Tempting. I don’t suppose that would entice you to come along?”

Soren blinked as Ike lifted the tent flap and early morning light spilled in. He clutched the blanket closer to himself. “Safe travels, Ike.”

By the time Ike had dressed and made himself look presentable, Mist and Titania were already waiting for him by where the horses were grazing and they had already saddled his dark brown horse, Eng. Titania handed him the reins, beginning to speak the moment he made eye contact.

“There is a fair-sized town ten miles to the southwest of our camp. Kieran, Oscar, Rhys, and I will be going to procure supplies once Soren has approved the budget. I have instructed the others to stay within three miles of camp to await further orders though we may need to find new grazing area for the horses by midday.”

“I’d be lost without you, Titania.” Ike said as he hoisted himself up into the saddle. “Mist, try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

Mist smiled at him, still good-natured in spite of her brother’s teasing. “Come back safe, Ike.”

 


	2. Danger Amongst the Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you love Soren's smartass mouth, you are going to LOVE the chapters I've written in his POV. He's a stone cold lil bitch and I give anyone who frustrates him approximately 5 minutes before they get annoyed with him.  
> In other news, Ike is going to be MAD ;) #

Soren did not emerge from his spot in the commander’s tent until well into mid-morning. 

He had the expense report prepared for Titania and she accepted it with a wry smile. “New hairstyle Soren?”

“Courtesy of Commander Ike.”

“It suits you. Speaking of the commander, he asked before he left if we could find some of the team willing to take the horses a little further out to graze. Kieran mentioned a decent grazing field about half an hour’s ride east.”

Soren nodded. “Understood. I’ll find some volunteers as soon as I can.”

“Very good.” Titania was already beginning to walk to where Kieran, Oscar, and Rhys were tightening the straps on their horses. “We should be back well before supper so you and I can prepare for a debriefing with the commander.”

Soren nodded and left the four of them to prepare for their journey. 

In the meantime he went to locate some idle souls who could help him move all the horses to greener pastures, so to speak. 

Even with the group Soren assembled of himself, Mist, Boyd, Rolf, and Mia, they would still need to make two trips to bring all the horses to the pasture--which was just as idyllic as Mist could have hoped for. Mia and Boyd drew the short straws Soren created out of blades of grass, so they were forced to make the hour-long walk back to camp to fetch the rest of the beasts.

Boyd grumbled like he was being forced to swim to Kilvas but he and Mia were laughing as they trudged back towards camp.

Soren tossed himself backwards into the long grass the moment they were out of sight and closed his eyes to bask in the warm sun. The area they were in was particularly picturesque for being so close to the city: there was a lush forest bordering the western part of the field, a mirror smooth lake to the south, and the long grass was peppered with blooming wildflowers like splatters of paint. Soren so enjoyed the warmth and the breeze that he did not even open his eyes as Mist called out to him. 

"Soren! I'm going to go into the forest to look around."

Always enterprising, Mist would doubtless forage for wild herbs and vegetation, and their stewpot would be all the better for it. "Don't go too far in." He cautioned as he touched the outline of his Elwind tome that was tucked into his sash. "Who knows what's in those woods."

Mist grinned at him and Soren was reminded viscerally of her brother's rare cheeky grin; there wasn't much he wouldn't do for that smile. 

"I won't go far. I'll keep the lake in sight."

Soren lay back down, stretching his limbs out as he relaxed to the point of nearly napping. He felt a small tremor of heat--like fire magic--across his skin, tickling the scarlet mark on his forehead, and cursed himself for not bringing a vulnerary. With his skin so pale, he burnt red as his eyes after only a few minutes under direct sunlight. 

Sitting up to look for a patch of shade, Soren saw Rolf stroking the neck of one of their massive draft horses as it grazed on clover. Mist was still nowhere to be seen and Soren thought about joining her under the shaded canopy of the forest. 

Soren heard Mist scream before he actually saw the threat and he was on edge immediately. He leapt to his feet to discern if there were men approaching or if a snake had run over Mist’s boot. Though he’d be annoyed, he prayed it was the latter. 

“S-Soren! Rolf!”

Rolf dropped the horses’ reins so that he could draw his short bow and Soren had his Elwind tome open as they waited for Mist to reappear from the edge of the forest. When she did limp from the circle of trees, Soren felt cold fear wash over him as he realized it was so much worse than he could have anticipated.

Tears of pain were pouring down Mist’s cheeks and Soren noted the arrow shaft protruding from her right thigh, the stocking there stained crimson. She was limping accordingly and a meaty hand was on her shoulder, steering her closer. 

Rolf made a noise torn between concern and pain and Soren was in agreement, though he stayed quiet. 

They emerged from the perimeter of the forest in a threatening line: around two dozen men who looked to be mercenaries for their dun leather garments and the fact that they seemed armed to the teeth. Soren counted two mages, four bows drawn, six axes, and uncountable swords and daggers.

Compared to his one tome and Rolf’s short bow, their odds did not look good. 

“Easy.” Soren commanded as Rolf notched an arrow and drew it fluidly to his cheek. “They’ve got Mist. Let me do the talking.”

Rolf looked at him in horror and Soren gritted his teeth. Maybe he did need to make a conscious effort not to be so sharp.

The leader approached them, half-carrying Mist with a sword at her side. He was smiling as if he hadn’t a care in the world and Soren wished Ike was present, if only for the satisfaction of seeing that smug smile sliced off. 

“Hello gentlemen.”

“Who on earth do you think you are?” Soren all but interrupted and saw Rolf wince. He was off to a great start with being tempered with his words. “To attack our friend like this, have you no honor?”

The leader seemed to be in disbelief and Soren knew he was not being considered a serious threat because he heard laughter from some of the other men. 

“What a  _ mouth _ on him.”

Soren sighed. “We have no gold with us but you are welcome to take the horses if you would like to try and wrangle them. Just…let her go and leave us in peace.” 

The leader of the group smiled again and something about that smile unsettled Soren. “Gods no. We don’t want your gold or those mediocre beasts.”

Soren squared his shoulders though he longed to grip his arms defensively. “What do you want then?” 

“Our mage caught wind of a rare Branded around this area.” Soren clenched his jaw and wished that the scarlet symbol marking him was somewhere less obvious and not on his forehead. The man smiled as he glanced at it. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

“No need to play the fool. My brand is clearly visible. Now what quarrel do you have with me?”

He had heard horror stories about the treatment of Branded in Gallia and Kilvas but usually beorc nations simply ignored them outright. Never had he been accosted over it but the Begnions were an odd people. Or maybe these men were just sellswords looking for a fight and his lineage was as good an excuse as any. 

“We have no quarrel with you or your little companions.” His smile was meant to be reassuring but Soren only found it chilling. “We would never harm a Branded either, so on my honor you will not have a scratch on you. However, if you want either of these children to live past the next ten minutes, you’ll need to come with us.” He shrugged and smiled at his men when Soren simply glared. “Or we can slaughter them both while you watch and drag you from this place. Your choice.”

Soren considered very carefully even though he knew what he had to do. 

Rolf’s hands were trembling on the arrow he held, his eyes flicking to every enemy--as if counting how many he’d need to slay--before invariably he would look at Mist. He was altogether too nervous for such an ambush. Soren wished he had insisted that Boyd had stayed and Rolf or Mist had gone with Mia. 

Mist looked at him with her wide, innocent eyes, blue as the sea. She seemed to know what he was planning and her tone was distraught. “S-Soren?”

Soren took a deep breath and considered the two greatest points of truth that would affect his decision. 

First, was that nothing on earth would hurt Ike more than losing Mist, his younger sister and only surviving family member. Second, was that Soren would do anything within his power to keep Ike from heartache. His decision was an easy one. 

“There is no need for bloodshed. I’ll come with you so long as you swear to leave them alive.”

“You have our word.”

He set his tome down as slowly as he could and breathed a sigh of relief as Rolf followed suit. Mist moaned in dismay but Soren was too busy calculating to feel any sort of distress. Mia and Boyd would be back within twenty minutes and help could be fetched in another thirty. An hour was not an insurmountable head start…

Soren jolted as the leader of the band took him firmly by the wrists and jerked him forward. In the same moment, Mist was pushed forward with a cry. Her leg was too injured to keep her upright and she fell to the dirt, Rolf tripping over himself to reach her. 

“Soren! Soren,  _ don’t _ !” She exclaimed but everyone ignored her. 

Soren’s sleeves were pushed back to make way for silver manacles and he shuddered, feeling the magic in them. The man shackling him smiled and his teeth were surprisingly well-maintained for a common brigand. “Your wrists are almost too slender for these. These shackles are worth more than all your horses and for good reason. If you try to run, our mage can trigger one hell of a thunder spell; it will knock you on your ass.”

“What a helpful explanation.” Soren said sarcastically and shuddered as he felt electricity in piercing stabs through his arms.

“Lippy, isn’t he?”

“Unfortunately my temperament does not improve with time.” Soren responded and gasped sharply as the electricity came again, only stronger. He made sure to glare at the mages, “Or so I’ve been told.”

Although their leader smiled indulgently, Soren knew he would not be the type to enjoy Soren’s particular attitude for long. His savagery became even more evident as he began to lead Soren back into the dark cover of the forest.

“Oh, make sure the other one won’t follow either.”

Soren whipped his head around as Mist screamed again and Rolf howled in pain. An archer from their company had notched another arrow and fired it directly into the meat of Rolf’s left arm. He’d be unable to follow the mercenaries and pick them off but Soren was just glad that the boy’s life had been spared.  

He was not entirely certain of what his own fate would be. 

However, it became clear not long after he was led into the forest. He saw that Mist had not gone far, as he had asked, and her healing staff lay shattered against a rock not but ten paces in. Horses were waiting patiently nearby and Soren was lifted onto one before he even had the chance to put his boot in the stirrup.

The leader of the group mounted close behind him and the lot of them began making excited commentary as soon as they began to gallop away.

“What a catch, boys. Who’d have thought we’d find a semi-decent Branded out in the middle of nowhere?”

“And we didn’t have to tear his clothes off to find that damned mark.” Soren sighed at that, now somewhat pleased that his brand was prominent on his forehead. 

“He’s rather elegant looking when he keeps his mouth closed.”

“I am right here.” Soren said irritably, hoping that his foul mood and sharp tongue would deter them from finding him attractive in any way. “And I must say, I think I’d rather have an arrow in the knee than listen to you lot.”

Soren tried not to jump as a hand clapped over his mouth. “Bitchy little thing; the feeling is mutual. But you had best get that mouth under control or you’ll be feeling a lot more from those shackles.”

“And who knows? Maybe they’ll like his poison.” One of the other men chimed in, “Those rich Begnion pigs are so fickle. One minute they want to pay coppers for an obedient adult tiger but they’ll shell out a king’s ransom of gold for a raging bitch of a heron.”

Soren thought through this information carefully and felt a cold wash of dread. Suddenly he wasn’t getting enough air.

“It’s all about how impossible it would be to find another.”

“Tigers can be found in any back alley of Gallia but there are only three full-blood herons and Brandeds can be just as hard to find. Gods only know how much those greedy Senators would pay for a dragon. Though you’ll not see me risking my neck for one.” Soren hope the man could not feel his heart pounding.

“This one is plenty rare anyway.” The fingers across Soren’s face patted at his cheek. “You’re still not even sure of what he is, correct?”

The mage looked harried. “N-No. But once we get him into the city someone will know.” It was clear that he was not used to not having his spells work.

The man behind Soren shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me. If he’s a mystery they’ll all but vomit gold to get him. Smart mouth, or no.”

Soren felt a little faint as he looked up at the dappled canopy.

He remembered Mist finding a captive and furious Reyson in Duke Tanas’ villa years ago. He remembered Muarim and Tormod brimful with righteous fury over their countrymen being shipped to Begnion as live trophies. And he knew then why the Apostle had called Ike and his mercenaries to Begnion. 

Soren wondered what in the hell he was going to do once they figured out he was of Goldoan descent. Possibly the only one in all of Tellius. 

 


	3. A Commander in Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on other stories lately but I finally have a new chapter and a chapter count ready for you all! I know there was some wondering about how Ike would react and I hope you all think it's in character.  
> I personally think Ike would be very rational if someone on his team was in danger, save Mist and Soren. They are just too important to him.  
> Also the laguz are here! Enjoy!

Ike knew that something was amiss the moment he was within view of the camp. There could not be so much commotion and so many people running about without there being some kind of problem. It was somewhat of a company trademark.

Ike sighed and shook his head, spurring his horse to a lively canter until he was in the thick of the madness.

His horse reared as he entered the center of their campsite and two blurs in blue and orange scampered by underfoot. Ike clutched Eng’s mane and glared as he heard the laughter and saw the handsome form of a man all but blossom up in front of him.

“Ranulf, you cheeky bastard, I almost fell off my horse.”

The slim orange cat at Ranulf’s feet cocked her delicate head before also stretching out into human form. “What a shame. That sight alone would have been worth the journey we’ve made.”

“Lethe, well met.” Ike dismounted, pleased to see them both. “What on earth are the two of you doing this far east? Surely this can’t be a coincidence.” He wondered if they were on a diplomatic visit in place of the Gallian king. “Did King Tibarn send men as well?”

It seemed Ulki was waiting for just such a question and he and Janaff plummeted to the earth behind him.

“Ike.” Janaff grinned. 

“Commander.” Ulki barely moved his lips as he greeted Ike.  

The horse reared again, terrified. “Gang’s all here.” Ike sighed, massaging his dislocated shoulder.

“The empress of Begnion and Muarim reached out to King Caineghis and asked to assist you with a little problem they were having.” Ranulf seemed delighted by the constant surprises and bumped his forehead against Janaff’s wings. “Apparently the hawks also received similar requests.” 

Ulki, stone-faced and sober as usual, turned to Ike once Ranulf paused to breathe and Janaff could shoo him away with his wing. “Surely we can find time to speak of our plans later. You should attend to the screaming.” 

Ike gripped the reins tight and took a deep breath. “The…screaming?”

Ulki nodded solemnly. “I heard screams as we flew in. It sounded like your sist--.”

Ike dropped the reins to run; it was very rude to leave guests who had just arrived without excusing himself but some situations demanded it. For Mist’s safety, Ike would desecrate the walls of Sienne if he had to. If she was screaming then surely something was terribly wrong.

His mercenaries leapt from his path as he skidded into Rhys’ medical tent.

Titania and her group, thank the gods above, had already returned from their errands in the town because Rhys was standing inside the light airy tent with a calming smile on his face. Boyd and Mia, both of their clothes wet and maroon from blood were standing by, Mia chewing on her thumbnail and Boyd holding Mist’s hand.

“Commander!” Mia noticed him first and Ike could see tension shivering under her pale skin. 

“Ike.” Boyd sounded anguished, but Ike had to brush them both aside for a moment.

Mist was resting on the medic’s pallet in the center of the room, her eyes closed and face white. There was a large bloodstain on the clothing around her slim left leg that Rhys had his staff over.

Ike did not allow himself to breathe until he saw Mist’s chest rising and falling and his legs almost gave out, he was so relieved.

Rhys looked over at Ike, a bit of perspiration on his pale forehead as he cast his healing spell and smiled to put everyone at ease. “Rest easy Ike. She’s just lost a bit of blood and I’ve put her to sleep so we can remove the arrow without too much pain. She and Rolf should make a full recovery.”

Ike was finally able to smile, pressing a trembling hand against his sister’s cheek. She leaned into it and mumbled something under her breath that might have been his name. 

“What happened?” Ike turned to Boyd and Mia. “Tell me all you know.”

“There’s not much to tell.” Mia said, shrugging her slim shoulders. “We did as you requested: we took the horses out to graze in a new pasture but we didn’t have enough people around to take them all in one trip so Boyd and I had to walk back to get the rest. When we rode back Mist was already passed out on the ground from losing blood and Rolf was in hysterics.”

“We came back to camp as quickly as we could.” Boyd agreed. “Kieran, Titania, Shinon, and Gatrie are headed back to the pasture now to get the horses we left behind but we’re still not even sure what happened. There’s no sign of--.”

“I have to talk to Rolf.” Ike said, deciding to go straight to the source of the matter. He also did not like seeing Mist looking so pale and helpless on the pallet, even though he knew she would pull through. He was a man of action and he had to do  _ something _ . 

“He’s waiting outside with Oscar.” Pain was caught in Boyd’s tone.

A spot of pale green outside Rhys’ tent caught Ike’s eye and he was shocked to see Rolf slumped on the ground, looking pale and miserable as he clutched his bandaged arm. Though he had never been good with pain or chaos, Rolf had grown strong enough to wait as Mist’s injuries were tended to first.

“Rolf.”

The youth flinched, fear and sickness and shame seeming to war for control on his features. “C-Commander Ike. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I-I couldn’t do  _ anything _ .”

“I don’t blame you Rolf.” Ike said crouching down. “You were outnumbered and they were using Mist as…as a shield, right?” Rolf nodded and wiped his nose with the back of his uninjured arm. 

“Th-they said they were going to kill us if we didn’t…if we didn’t…” Rolf was overcome by his experience and made a noise of pain, crushing his palms against his eyes.   

Ike longed to take Rolf by the shoulders and shake him until the truth came out but Rolf was already nervous and upset. More violence and chaos would only increase his panic. A gentler touch would necessary and Ike motioned for Oscar to take over the line of questioning before he lost his mind. 

Oscar’s voice was gentle and low as he talked to his youngest brother. “Rolf, Rolf you’re safe.”

“I couldn’t--I couldn’t  _ help  _ them! I  _ p-panicked _ !”

“Mist is safe.” Oscar assured him. “Rhys will patch her right up so please, just--.”

Rolf did not seem at all calmed and in fact began to grip his brother’s hands. “You don’t  _ understand _ ! We brought back Mist but S-Soren,” Ike tensed so much, he thought his armor might splinter around him, “they took  _ Soren _ !”

If hearing Mist’s safety was in jeopardy was like helplessness yawning open and black in front of him, then hearing Soren had been taken was like being awash in a pit of acidic red fury. Ike was duly aware that if Rolf and Mist had managed to get one of their attackers back to the camp, it would have all been for naught.

Ike would have mauled him in that moment. 

Mist was safe, within reach but Soren…only the gods knew where he was and what was happening to him. Ike would not be able to rest until Soren was close enough for him to touch. 

Oscar shot a nervous glance at Ike before continuing his gentle line of questioning. “Easy Rolf.” Rolf crushed his eyes closed, clearly not comforted. “Why? Why did they take Soren?”

It was a good question. 

Soren was ethereally beautiful--at once pale and dark--but it was easy to forget that once he opened his mouth. He would put up less of a fight than Mist or Rolf and would be much less agreeable about being held captive in any way. If not for the dire nature of the situation, Ike would find the idea of it funny. 

Rolf took two deep shuddering breaths before he could get the terrible news out. “They didn’t want gold or horses. They already looked…so  _ wealthy _ for brigands. Th-they took him because he was Branded.” Ike felt his stomach drop and turn to ice. “They had some kind of spell that found him and then they had him come with them. O-or they’d…k-kill us.”

Ike was moving the moment Rolf finished his stuttering tale. 

“Commander?” Oscar called back in concern and then, when Ike made no response, “Ike?”

“When Titania returns, have everyone meet in the strategy room. Guests included.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to find Volke.” 

His voice sounded foreign to him and he was aware two dozen eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He had to find Soren. 

 

Volke, Ike’s hired thief-turned assassin, could never really be found by looking. He seemed to have a sixth sense for when people were actively trying to find him and would go out of his way to hide and frustrate his pursuer.

Ike found that the most effective way of locating the man was to go to their supply tent and just wait until Volke found him.

Ike paced, every second feeling like an eternity. 

There was a slight gust of wind through the tent flaps and Ike waited for the inevitable, mocking voice of his employed thief.

“You look like hell, Commander.” Ike turned, in no mood for games. Volke was perched lightly on a stack of boxes, pressing the tip of his dagger into the pad of his thumb without breaking the skin. As always his face was half covered but Ike could tell he was smiling. “Anything I can do to help?”

Ike stared at Volke, trying to resist the urge to swing Ragnell and crush the boxes and supplies all around him. 

“Some men have taken Soren.” He almost bit his tongue as he spit out the words. His mouth tasted bitter.

“Those poor men.”

“I do not find it amusing.”

“I’m sure they do not either.” Volke said slipping down without making a sound. “Even less so once they have a run in with you in this state. Tell me, do you need my assistance in this matter?”

Ike narrowed his eyes.

Begnion was huge and even narrowing down the area of search to the capital city would take weeks that they did not have. What little Ike knew of slavers was that they moved quickly to keep from being caught and they already had a head start with Soren in hand. If Ike didn’t move quickly, Soren would be lost to him, stashed away in some wealthy home. 

“Find him. Find anything you can about this. Search the city and find where they auction the laguz and the Branded. Find Soren.” He struggled to keep his voice level and not plead; Volke would pounce on that sort of weakness. 

Volke sighed as he rolled his shoulders. “Anything else I should know.”

Ike thought back to what Sigrun, Tanith, and Zelgius had told him. “Start in the red district. Those close to the Apostle are fairly certain that one of the larger warehouses could be a front for…this kind of thing. Maybe one owned by one of those senators.” He thought of that gluttinous Duke Tanas grasping at Prince Reyson and shuddered. 

“It’s going to cost you--.”

“I don’t care how much it costs.” Ike interrupted. “Soren is…” He was too important, too dear to him. Ike could not put a price on him. “Just find him.”

Volke raised one eyebrow--his services were not cheap--but Ike did not blink or back down.

“Understood Commander.” Volke said as he made to leave the supply tent. “Give me three nights.” Ike must have looked horrified at this proposed time limit because Volke clarified his statement. “It will take any slaver looking to make a good amount of money that much time to get him cleaned up and get word out to interested parties. Three nights, commander.”

Ike felt ill.

It had been years since he had woken up without Soren any further than a room away. His pale profile and long black hair were often the first things that Ike saw in the morning. There would be an aching spot so long as he was not with Ike.

“Three days.” He conceded. “I’ll wait for you here.”

He would wait in his riding boots, with Ragnell strapped to his back, and a horse saddled and ready just outside the supply tent. He would ride for Sienne the moment Volke returned.

Volke had already disappeared when Ike exited the supply tent. 

He decided to go check on Mist to see how she was feeling and ask her if she remembered anything else before he debriefed his company. Their mission had just become very personal indeed.

 


	4. Blood and Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation soon so I can't promise when the next update will be. However, hopefully this can tide you all over until I'm ready to post again. Soren is appropriately furious and these people won't know what hit them once he opens his mouth.  
> Also, I wouldn't trust his judgment with his new clothes. I'm positive they suit him, it's just not to his taste. Enjoy!

After about twenty minutes of riding, the men who had taken him had tried to cast some sort of sleeping spell on Soren to stop his endless wit and he played along. However with his Goldoan blood, light magic had never worked very well on him and he felt like he could possibly overhear something important or find a moment to escape if they thought he was asleep.

Unfortunately, all that they had discussed since then was what they were planning to spend their money on once they sold him. The fact that they could not place his bloodline had them even more rabid, as rarity could be measured in gold. 

He thanked the gods that his hair was long enough to hide most of his face and his grimace as they inevitably spoke on his appearance again.

“Gods, he is so much better with his mouth shut.”

“Should we put something in his mouth when we get into town? I can see us getting a reduced rate if he snaps at the master’s fingers.”

Soren felt ill at the thought and disliked the suggestion of the man behind him even more. “Our job is just to get them, not break them. That will be the buyer’s job. Besides…there is something alluring about holding these spirited ones captive.”

Soren would have liked to summon a Bolting and smite them all into a smoldering, blackened spot in the earth. 

Instead he stayed limp as the horses slowed to a halt and someone strong pulled him from the saddle into their arms. Soren was laid gently on what felt like a wooden floor and for a moment he experienced a cold, visceral fear that all of their talk of his appearance could spur them to further indignities.

Soren could stomach a great deal but he doubted he could lie still, as if in sleep, and allow himself to be molested. 

There was a small argument over who would ride in the back, who would drive, and who would meet back at the predetermined rendezvous point; Soren realized he was on the floor of a caravan, doubtlessly about to be smuggled into the city. His heart raced as he thought of how he might be able to raise alarm if they passed a checkpoint in Sienne and shuddered thinking of the electric currents racing across his skin.

Two slavers joined him in the back of the caravan and Soren felt the darkness blanket him as they shuttered the back of the wagon and the massive vehicle began to lurch into movement. 

The two with him were content to talk of drinking and dice for the first few minutes but, invariably, they commented on him again.

“Remember, when we get to the gates, cover him up and make sure he can’t make any noise. Gods forbid those city guards find him.”

“I know, I know. Do you think he’s worth the trouble?”

“Mmmm…” Soren felt a hand on his chin, first tilting his head roughly from side to side before gentling. “He’s young and lovely. If the price isn’t right, I’m sure we can just sell him to some pleasure house in the city.” A finger slipped down the collar of his shirt, stroking at the sensitive skin of his throat.

The only thing keeping Soren from screaming aloud was imagining that the fingers were Ike’s.

Soren did this when anyone touched him and the thought of Ike’s calloused gentle hands would immediately set him at ease. He could feel them as phantoms on his cheeks, warm and wanted as he was dragged toward an uncertain future.  

 

True to their word, blankets were piled on top of Soren and a mercenary held him tight and kept a hand clamped firmly over his mouth. It seemed as though he could not arouse suspicion by the city gates and he would have to come up with a new plan.

He was not let out until they were deep in the city.

A hand roughly slapped at his cheeks until he opened his eyes and he was forced out of the wagon onto the streets of Sienne.

The building he had been brought to looked to be an expensive silk shop but once Soren was pushed inside, he realized the entire thing was simply a front. The young woman who approached them as soon as they entered treated the vagabonds like honored guests, despite their obvious lack of interest in the fabrics, and Soren noticed the magicked silver around her neck and wrists as well.

A portly gentleman emerged from the back room and his eyes glimmered with greed as he caught sight of Soren. 

“Ah, gentlemen! What have you brought us today?”

“Something rare.” The leader said, a smile in his voice.

“Oh?”

“So rare the spell didn’t recognize what he was. You’ll have to test the blood.” The proprietor nodded as he looked Soren over, calculating. Soren did not blink once, staring the man down with all his unbridled fury. 

“He’s so slender. And filthy. We’ll take the blood and get him properly dressed. Maybe then he’ll paint a more palatable picture. Sindi, prepare the water for our guest.” The girl bowed wordlessly and disappeared into the back room. “Come here, little one. It’ll be just a tiny pinprick don’t you worry.”

Soren longed to roll his eyes. He was all but raised on a battlefield and he had seen Rhys and Mist heal inch-deep gashes in him; as if a spot of blood would make him faint away. He did not shudder or flinch as his arm was pierced and his serenity must have been unnerving to the gentleman who must have been used to wilder ‘guests’.

“He’s a quiet one…”

“Oh, don’t let him fool you. He’s got a mouth on him that will strip paint from the walls.”

“Hmm…well at least he’s pretty.” He began to reach his fingertips towards Soren’s hair and his brand. 

“If I cannot kill you, Ike will.” Soren said smoothly. The man looked shocked and pulled his hand away. “I’ve seen him do it. One slice of the sword from neck to navel. I would just smite you from the earth or tear you apart with wind but there is something so beautifully savage about--mph!”

Soren jolted as a rough hand covered his mouth and the mercenary leader shrugged. “I told you so.”

“I see.” The man looked a little bitter at having discovered Soren’s naturally sour nature; clearly he was weighing out if Soren was worth the effort to try and make presentable. “I’ll have my men escort him downstairs to make him more…presentable while we check his blood and discuss payment.”

Soren shuddered, his body clenching tight as the brigand holding him kissed him squarely on his brand. Clearly he knew that the area around a brand was highly sensitive and wanted to get one last cruelty in. “I’ll miss your glaring, you little bitch.”

Soren wished he could turn into a full grown dragon at that moment but he had to settle for wishing a painful death on the men as he was led into the back room. 

The girl--he had already forgotten her name--was waiting for him inside with a bulky guard and a sickly sweet smile. “Welcome. May I ask your name?”

“Let’s just get this over with.” Soren said. 

“Ah--I…yes, of course. This way please.”

Soren had expected a secret passageway but once again the Begnion slavers had outdone themselves. Two shelves of silks were pushed aside to reveal a massive marble staircase leading down into the cavernous bowels of the shop. Though sumptuously detailed, the rooms beneath had heavy steel doors and fiercely armored guards marked it as an expensive prison. He wondered which room would be his and how long he would be forced to occupy it. He was not led to one of the cells immediately but to a massive room at the end of the hall, heat pouring out the moment the heavy doors were opened.

Soren balked at the sight of the enormous circular bath dug into the glossy marble floors.

Used to the wandering, mud-caked life of a mercenary, Soren would usually welcome such a luxurious bath. Life on the road was not conducive to long soaks unless they chose to camp by a river or lake and actual indoor bathing was reserved for when they were hosted in some wealthy manor or castle.

But damn them if they thought he would disrobe and bathe in front of them without a fight. He was too slight to be physical intimidating and his tomes were gone but he did have one weapon left in his arsenal: his mouth. 

“You can find anything you need in this room,” the young woman said in a tone she might have hoped would be demure; she simply sounded like a simpering fool. “We recommend that you take advantage of all the soaps, oils, and lotions we have on--.”

It was an order then.

Soren walked with purpose to the array of expensive, cut glass bottles and selected the largest one. The young woman screamed and the guards rushed in, blades drawn as Soren smashed the bottle against the stone walls. Oil that smelled of lime ran down to the marble in viscous drops as Soren leisurely surveyed the sharp edges. 

“W-What are you doing?” The young woman cried, clutched the neckline of her dress in horror.

“Do you plan to fight us with a broken bottle?” The guard mocked him.

“Oh do shut up, both of you.” Soren said. “I have no intentions of listening to the advice of some woman who has only been trained to give the orders of others.” An ugly look came over the woman’s face and Soren finally gave her the smile she had probably hoped to see from him. “And I have no intention of fighting either. I’m going to carve this brand off of my forehead.”

The guards paled, knowing that a Branded without a brand would lose most of their value. He’d be sold to some pleasure house instead but they would lose their weight in gold.

“Now I seem to have your attention and we are at an impasse. Oh, pardon me. I’ll use smaller words. I believe you brutish types would call it a draw? In any case, I have no desire to hear your voices or be in your company any longer. Get out.”

They watched him with wary eyes until Soren calmly brought the sharp edge up to his forehead, digging the point into his skin until he felt a trickle of blood run down the bridge of his nose. 

It seemed as though it had finally gotten through to them that he was not bluffing.

“Leave him.” The woman hissed. “Take your time.” 

Soren lowered the jagged bottle and gave them all a sour smile as they left, making quick calculations in his mind. 

He had no intention of being anyone’s slave but he could not possibly hope to escape using brute force. He was patient and observant and intelligent; it would be no issue for him to wait for a chance to escape.

Warmth suffused in his chest as he realized rescue could be coming to him so long as he stayed in the city, easy to find. Ike would doubtless have returned to camp and it wasn’t in his nature leave anyone behind. He hoped that Ike would come for him…

 

Soren washed as long as he dared, not in any hurry to be locked in a room. He washed slowly, not even bothering to unbraid and properly shampoo his hair as it occurred to him that Ike had braided his hair that morning. He gripped the plait and felt the childish hope that Ike would come and find him and take him away from this elaborate cage. He steeled himself after a moment; he could not wait for Ike like some helpless maiden. He needed a plan.

When his skin was beginning to wrinkle like old leather, he got out of the bath to dry off and apply lotion behind a partition. He wondered idly if any buyers would like the bolts of pale pink scars that crisscrossed his body under his clothes.

It was a question that was soon to be answered, entirely against his will.

He emerged from behind the partition to find that his clothes were missing.

That bitch had obviously sneaked in while he was applying whatever cream he had selected and taken his sturdy black sorcerer’s robes. In its place was a length of silk in pale green, hemmed in black with a silver chain to keep it in place and nothing else. 

Soren cursed her, wishing to burn the cloth immediately. So used to being covered from neck to ankles, wearing a wrap that only fell to mid-calf made him feel naked. But if he had to choose between baring his torso or exiting naked…

He chose to wrap it around his hips and found that whoever had provided the ‘garment’ had severely miscalculated how slender Soren was. It wrapped around him almost three times and the chain dug into his flesh to keep the entire length of fabric from slipping down his legs. 

It was cold without his robes and Soren clutched his shoulders to try and keep warm. He was contemplating wearing the wet towel around his shoulders when he caught sight of the full length mirror in the bathroom.

Soren looked at his own reflection and found it distasteful.

He looked slender and pale and not at all intimidating without his robes and his tomes. His slim bare torso was not nearly as impressive or nice to look at as Ike’s was, what with his ribs pressing at the thin skin of his flank and the way his hipbones jutted against the scars at his hips. The magicked silver shackles and jade-colored silk around his hips did not conjure any sort of erotic image in his mind but only served to make him look wan and miserable.

_ Good enough _ .

Making up his mind, he padded barefoot to the doors and threw them open with all the force in his skinny body. It was violent enough that it left a chip in the left wall and the guard who had been standing in front of the door grunted in pain as the heavy wood and metal connected soundly with his back. 

Soren ignored him entirely and glared at the man who was clearly the owner of the entire establishment and would be the one selling Soren to some Begnion pig who had more money than he knew what to do with.

The man was red and all but vibrating as he saw Soren, a vein pulsing in his temple and his hands left visibly sweaty prints as he wiped them against the fine yellow silk of his tunic. Soren twisted his lips at the distasteful display.

Clearly he had been told how much Soren’s bloodline was worth and Soren was willing to bet the man had the metallic taste of gold in his mouth. 

“Have the gods finally decided to put you out of your misery, you perspiring lump of flesh?” Soren asked with no inflection. He would feel nothing at all if the man collapsed into the throes of death in front of him.

It seemed to snap him out of his gold-flecked haze and Soren half-expected him to wipe his mouth with his silk sleeve.

“Are you ready, little one?” 

Soren bared his teeth. “Are  _ you _ ?” They wanted a dragon, he’d  _ give  _ them a dragon.

 


	5. Assassin’s Creed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back from my 3 month holiday overseas and hopefully I can begin to update this story more often. In other news, I really love thief/assassin classes in FE. I bulked up my Volke in POR and he's so quick no one can hit him. I hope you all enjoy this latest chapter!

Volke had slipped into Sienne in the dead of night. He had gotten good at slipping into spaces he was not allowed and as always on solo missions he was amazed at how easy it was to avoid notice when he was unencumbered by the large, noisy group of mercenaries he usually travelled with. 

He had contacts in Sienne and made his way to their local haunt in hopes of hearing whispers on the wind.

In the mist district he found the bar where sellswords and thieves and the fellow ilk enjoyed drinks and talked of potential jobs. If anyone could offer information on a laguz and Branded trafficking ring, it would be found in the mist district.

The bar in question was called Crepuscule and not a single glance was spared for him as he entered. He didn’t even need to order a drink, finding his favorite ale already waiting for him on his usual table.  

The bitter liquor had just warmed his mouth when he felt someone sit across from his table. 

“Shadow, you’ve returned to Sienne.”

“I have, Shadow,” Volke said. There was such secrecy in the bar that no one ever used their real names whilst inside. They simply called themselves and all others inside ‘Shadow’. “I’m here on business.”

Another Shadow slipped in beside the first, her eyes glittering for want of gold and secrets. “ _ Business _ , you say. Is it worth its weight in gold and magic? Are you in need of help?”

“For a price.”

Volke grinned and took another drink of his ale. With his spare hand he played a trick he had learned as a younger man where he had a golden coin dance across his knuckles and disappear into his sleeve. The Shadows watched it carefully.

“I’m doing a favor for a friend.” He said, “And I’m in the market for information, as it were.”

“What do you want to know, Shadow?”

Volke clenched the coin in his fist. “We’ve heard whispers of laguz and Branded being taken as trophies. I’m looking for auction house. The one that only the richest of senators can buy their way into. Know anything about a place like that?” 

The first Shadow smiled. “Shadow will know where to find that kind of place.”

Volke waited until Shadow arrived and told him what he had told the others. “Where might one go to find such a place?”

“Gold.”

Volke flipped Shadow the gold he had been playing with. “Where?” He did not say it aloud but he almost asked, ‘where is Soren’. 

The gold disappeared. “Red district. Any wealthy sort of crime would happen there.” Volke drank to hide his disappointment; the red district was still an enormous area to search. Shadow amended. “I have heard though that there are supposed to be some empty houses around town in two nights. It’s likely that there’s some auction happening then.”

“There may be more word tomorrow.”

Volke nodded and finished his drink, leaving another gold on the table for the trouble.

He left the bar after only a half of an hour inside to go steal some clothes that would allow him to pass amongst the upper echelon of Begnions. One thing that was delightful about being in the city, was how easy it was to find someone to steal from. 

By the time the sun was rising on Sienne, Volke had purchased a night in an inn and stolen a black silk costume from a high end shop that needed better locks. He slept through the morning and most of the afternoon, rising with just enough time to eat supper and then go back to Crepuscule in hopes of finding new information. 

They did not let him down, as soon as he slipped through the door, Shadow approached him with a feline grin.

“Shadow! You’ve returned. I have news.”

 

Warehouse 43 was not, according to its name, a warehouse like those for storing goods.

It was, in fact, an auction house tucked between two dark, clean alleyways in the red district. It was a bit too polished and elite for Volke’s normal tastes, so he took extra care with his appearance the evening of the auction. 

He shaved his facial hair, slicked back his hair, and even tucked a scented satchel into his cloak to truly give off an air of elegance. Getting in the front door was going to be the greatest difficulty and he had to hold himself in a way that could garner no argument. Though it was an extravagance, he hired a carriage to take him to the ‘warehouse’.

He scarcely even glanced at the man standing at the door, saying simply that he was arriving to bid on behalf of a discerning man of taste, and was let in without further question. 

He was led through the nondescript halls into a wide, dimly lit room filled with small tables and comfortable chairs set around a raised sort of stage with a heavy velvet curtain. The room was already filled with the Begnion elite, smoking, drinking, and conversing quietly as they waited for the auction to start. 

Volke took a seat as far in the back as he could, extinguishing the candle closest to him and waiting without moving as the auction began. 

The auctioneer took stage and was clearly intoxicated with the importance of his captive audience and Volke wished he had an overripe tomato to lob at the man’s head when his opening speech lasted more than ten minutes. 

To pass the time while hawks, ravens, tigers, and Branded were led onstage and extolled as the prime of their species, Volke thought of what Shadow had told him of this warehouse. The auctioneers had sent out invitations quickly and the wealthy had been pouring in from Begnion meaning that some truly valuable stock was to go up for sale. It was also the premier place to purchase Branded and if Soren was anywhere in the city, the warehouse would be the best place to look.

If he was not here then Volke was going to have to dig even deeper and get his hands a little dirty. 

He refused wine and refreshments and waited. He couldn’t be sure but his instincts told him that Soren was here… 

A series of miserable-looking cats were paraded out and subsequently auctioned off and Volke took note of the names of their purchasers. Hopefully once Soren was rescued they could free the rest of the laguz as well.

There was a lull in activity and there was a distinct shift in the room. Anticipation, similar to how the atmosphere felt at the beginning of a battle.

“Finally, dear bidders,” the auctioneer spoke again as the lamps were being lit and two young men were pulling at the curtain onstage, “we come to our last lot. A rare and valuable beauty we have left until the end for our most discerning buyers and--.”

Volke ignored the rest as the curtain was pulled aside. He breathed in and put his fist in front of his mouth as a mechanism to control his expression.

Unsurprisingly, it seemed as though whoever was in charge had tired of Soren’s smartass mouth. 

His wrists were chained in silver above his head, the chains wrapped around a sturdy wood beam that hung from the rafters so that Soren was dangling in the air, his biggest toes barely skimming the polished wood floors. His ankles too had been chained together, likely to prevent him from kicking, and some kind of silver bar had been wedged between his snarling teeth and strapped around his head with thick leather straps. His slim torso was entirely bare and Volke was surprised at just how bone pale and thin Soren was when he was not cloaked in black. 

In any other situation, Volke would have laughed and jabbed at Soren over finally shutting up. But just knowing he was stretched out like that to make him a more attractive product, Volke felt a little sick at the sight. 

The auctioneer had gotten past his grandstanding and finally revealed why this particular ‘specimen’ was saved until the very end. “Aside from a half-heron, this may be one of the rarest Branded in all of Tellius.” Volke felt people stiffen beside him and he could almost  _ smell _ the gold seeping through their greedy hides. “We have made confirmation that the beauty before you,” Soren’s scarlet eyes flashed murder, “is half-Goldoan. So rare as to be a once-in-a-lifetime lot.”

Volke felt the air leave his lungs in unison with the dozens of wealthy Begnions in the room.

He had known that Soren was Branded but a Goldoan Branded? It was astonishing to say the least.

“The bidding will begin at fifty thousand gold but first we would offer any interested buyers to come and get a closer look.” 

Volke’s vision spun; as a man who lived as a thief and a mercenary, fifty thousand was enough for him to live on for several years and that was the  _ starting _ bid. He would have to consider picking a few pockets before he left and the Begnions were making it very tempting, what with the way they were crowding and jostling around Soren in a rabid pack. They wouldn’t notice a feather-light touch at their waistcoats.

Volke slipped up amongst them, staying in the shadows so that no one would take notice of him and, for the first time, he wished he had brought his cannonball of a commander along with him. 

Trembling hands coated in jewels and gold ran the length of Soren’s flanks, over his ribs and his Brand. His face was a mask of trembling fury, every muscle in his lean body clenched tight as the Begnions looked him over like a piece of pottery or a fine warhorse. And Ike would have killed them all for it.

Soren’s expression only fell to true upset when someone took the braided length of his hair and pulled it free. 

Volke had never been close with the little dark mage but he was not heartless. He would have liked to have seen Ike fall to his wild fury and draw Ragnell in this crowd. The blade was sharp as death and would slice through the chains and the guards with ease. Volke touched the dagger he had smuggled in but held back. 

He would be vastly outnumbered and Ike would not be able to find his ‘friend’. It was useless.

_ Hold on, Soren _ , he thought to himself, turning away so that he did not have to see any further indignities visited on his comrade.  

The auction began in earnest a few minutes later and whatever Volke had been bracing himself for, he was solely unprepared for what actually happened. He choked on the fine wine he had been given when, after the first few moments, the price of Soren rose from fifty thousand to one hundred thousand to two hundred thousand with no sign of stopping.

Soren’s eyes were enormous and furious and he kicked out with his chained feet, perhaps trying to look wild and unappealing. It wasn’t working exactly as he had planned.

Bidding began to taper off at six hundred thousand and there were several hushed and excited conversations beginning as three men kept up their bids. Volke emptied the wine and slipped into the darkness, listening to the whispers.

The bidding stopped at seven hundred twenty thousand and five hundred pieces of gold to a polite round of applause, obviously reserved when it came to the losers.

By that time, Volke had a name and that was all he needed.

He should have left to gather more information but he paused when he saw Soren. The young man had obviously lost the fight in him--hardly surprising, since it would be difficult for Ike to find him once he was sold--and was just dangling limp with his head down. Volke felt a rare pang of empathy. 

He waited and watched as those grimy, rich Begnions began to file out and prepare to transport their ‘purchases’ to whatever den they had set up. He wished once again that Ike was with him if only to watch his commander tear apart the guards that took Soren down from his beam and carted him away.

Volke slipped through the throng, all but unseen, following the silvery glint of Soren’s shackles through back rooms where he was likely not allowed.

“--this little bitch can take a hellish amount of thunder.”

_ That _ was why he was so docile. They were torturing him and Volke did not relish the idea of telling Ike. 

A garishly decorated carriage was waiting in a private alley and the last that Volke saw of Soren was his small, pale form being lifted inside. The Begnion man who had bought him had a gentle handful of Soren’s long raven hair and Soren lashed out, almost managing to kick the man in the head. 

Volke left the hall, slipping into the alley before anyone noticed him.

 

Ike’s was already pacing inside of the supply tent, waiting for Volke’s return and Volke felt a twinge of guilt when he saw Ike’s face fall as he came in alone. 

“Volke, you have news.” His expression was barely contained concern and anger. 

“I do. Sit down commander.” 

Ike sat reluctantly, his indigo eyes boring a hole into Volke. As Volke began to tell his tale, Ike’s boyish face underwent an alarming change from white shock to crimson fury. Volke began to fear for the city of Sienne itself as he told Ike of Soren gagged and shackled to the rafters so that he could be inspected. But Ike was no longer the rash youth who had charged headfirst into Daein now. He was more patient and cunning, and a lot deadlier. He waited until Volke finished his report. 

When Ike found the power to speak again, he looked past Volke into nothingness with a tone as sharp and quiet as murder. 

“Who has him now?”

_ A dead man _ . “Lord Bishop Aswin of House Calibray.” Volke rattled off the name as easily as breathing, glad that he had spent the extra time to do reconnaissance. “His family is old and wealthier than the goddess herself. He owns a stately home in the city, a summer villa on the island to the east, and his family estate is just south of the mountain range in the center of the country and from what I’ve heard, he’s headed back to his family home within the next few days. He’s likely to take Soren there.”

Ike nodded and Volke could see one of his hands gripping the hilt of Ragnell. 

“I have prepared a list of all of those whose names I know were in attendance, if you would like to give them to--.” Volke shook his head at his error; he would usually present such information to Soren. “Is there anything else you want from me, commander?”

Ike stood too quickly and Volke could tell he was going to prowl like a furious laguz until they were marching on the Calibray estate. 

As Ike remained silent, Volke prepared himself to go back out into the cities of Begnion to hear any whispers he could about the estate. But it was clear Ike had not had enough pain and fury to sustain him for the evening. Sharp tone lost, he asked one more thing of Volke before he left.

“Was…was Soren…was he…?”

Volke understood what Ike was trying to ask, despite his obvious distraught. “Commander, you know he suffers no touch but your own. Of course he was frightened.” Ike looked as though someone had stolen his lungs before he stalked from the tent.

Volke hoped that the Lord Bishop Aswin was ready to meet the goddess he worshipped. 

 


	6. A Private Showing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're about halfway through this story now and we're back to Soren's POV. He's still mad, unsurprisingly haha!   
> Also I feel like the game did Soren dirty by making him the ONLY dragon Branded and not giving him any special powers. So I just kind of added in that he's resistant to status spells like Sleep, Poison, Silence, etc. but also that he has an infallible inner compass. It makes sense since tiny Soren found Ike in Crimea all by himself ;)  
> Enjoy!

Born to Daein parents who were distant at best, Soren had never really become accustomed to being touched. The overly friendly Crimeans had gotten him used to the rough shoulder claps and embraces that invariably accompanied fighting and he liked when Ike did gentle things. 

Like braid his hair or cup his back or tug on his fingers to try and keep him from writing out expense reports.

But he could think of no touch more distasteful than the one of the Begnion man who had purchased him. Hands uncalloused and obviously unused to hard work had trailed along his bare torso, taking in the battle scars Soren kept in secrecy and pride. It was so terribly invasive that Soren could only lay tense and furious on the seat of the carriage.

Soren could not focus on what was being said, he was so focused on keeping his breathing even.

At least the man’s hands wandered no lower than his waist. “Before we leave for my home, we’ll go to my residence in the city and get you some proper cream for these unsightly scars…”

They traversed the city for only about a quarter of an hour before slowing to a stop. As Soren was helped from the carriage, he saw a fine city mansion in front of him, thick candles seeming to burn from every window. Soren tried to take in every aspect of the home so he could set fire to it after he was free. 

It seemed that most of Lord Aswin’s friends had heard of his most recent purchase. 

There was a group of them waiting inside the entryway of his elaborate home and all of their eyes lit up when they saw Soren. 

He balked and prepared to scratch at them with his nails if they came too close.

“Aswin, what a rare prize!” One woman said, paying more attention to the lord than to Soren. He guessed she must have been low on the pecking order, trying to curry favor. “You’ll be the talk of Sienne.”

“He already is the talk of Sienne!” Aswin beamed at that.

“A Goldoan Branded…who would have imagined?”

“Bring him somewhere lighter so we can get a better look at him.” The group was already looking at him like they wanted to devour him whole but Soren scarcely had a choice as Aswin gripped his by the wrist and pulled him further inside the wretched mansion.

It was a sumptuous place; even the candelabras and the embroided upholstery would keep Soren’s company in food for months. It was almost obscene how lavishly decorated the home was. 

There was a spare room Soren was pushed into with a small raised dais in the center, thick candles lit so it was bright as day inside. Soren had the distinct feeling he was not the first Branded to be forced into the room.

Still he kept his head high, glazed his eyes, and tried to be unfeeling as stone as the crowd of wealthy ‘friends’ drank him in, several hands running down his bare skin and over his brand. When he caught Aswin’s greedy gaze, Soren hoped the man could see the murder in Soren’s eyes.

“What a  _ beauty _ . A little thin and pale but a few days in the sun will fix that.”

“He’s so small.” One man said thoughtfully in a way Soren did not like in the least; he sounded like he wanted to devour Soren. 

“Most Branded and laguz are fairly young looking until their forties.” Soren made his head rigid so the woman speaking could not get a good look at him. “This little beauty could be anywhere from fourteen to forty.” She was not wrong; even at nineteen, Soren still had a baby face.

“He could well turn into a family heirloom if he has a Goldoan lifespan.”  _ Highly unlikely _ .

“So slender and yet he has such terrible scars.” Foul hands traced one of the scars at his hip. 

“Branded like him are shunned from their laguz communities. Likely his Goldoan relatives gave him these.”

Soren longed to roll his eyes.

Though he had suffered abuses, it lay more along the lines of neglect. The scars were from battle and he relished each one. The one on his hip tingled. It had come from a luckily thrown javelin, the pain such that Soren had almost passed out from it. Ike had nearly taken another javelin to the shoulder in his haste to pick Soren up and carry him to Rhys before he went into shock from blood loss. 

The one on his back from a soldier taking up a whip, Ike had bandaged himself since Soren could not reach, cursing his clumsy, rough hands. Soren had bit back that he preferred Ike’s clumsiness to anyone else’s touch, even Rhys’ or Mist’s healing hands. 

The one at the base of his neck, when he had been pushed onto a jutting tree root…Ike had tied up Soren’s hair so the blood wouldn’t mat the black strands. Soren would never forgive any person in the room for touching the revered places that Ike had touched. If Soren was the emotional type, he might have screamed.

The Begnions had since moved on to other topics of conversation.

“Why does he have this bar in his mouth?”

“To keep him from screaming for help, naturally.”

“I’m told he has somewhat of a sharp tongue.” Aswin laughed as if Soren’s anger was a joke. “More than likely it was to keep him from swearing in the auction house. We can remove it shortly and see if their warnings hold true.”

Soren was pleased to hear that; he had come up with several cutting remarks to unleash on the man who had purchased him. Likely it would only serve to have the bar be put back into his mouth, but it would be worth it.

“It might be best to wait until you have left the city, in any case. You wouldn’t want any of the apostle’s dogs sniffing around after you’ve snagged such a rare prize.”

“I hear the apostle has been setting up a special task force to weed out any Begnion citizen buying or selling sub-humans.” One of the men laughed as if it was a fool’s errand and Soren felt his heart clench. Ike’s mercenaries; these people would stand no chance. “As if we would ever be fool enough to keep our trophies in our city homes.”

Soren listened carefully, trying to keep his expression vacant and uninterested as he heard their dirty secrets. 

“I used to keep my stock in the family hunting lodge but now the safest spot is offshore. More privacy.”

There was a chorus of assent to the point where Soren began to think that most laguz and Branded slaves were no longer on the mainland, but on the balmy island off the eastern coast. Once he escaped, he’d have to let Ike know… 

“We’ll be going to my summer villa as well.” Lord Aswin said fondly and Soren stiffened as he felt fingers running through his black hair. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow and taking the first ferry out.”

“Best keep him below deck.” Another man with gleaming, piggish eyes said. “He looks like he’d burn a the slightest--.” He yelped in alarm and pain as he attempted to slide a hand across Soren’s chest; Soren responded by slamming the metal manacle down hard on the bone of the man’s wrist.

Soren sunk to his knees for the pain of the magic at his own wrists but it was worth it.

Aswin petted his head with an indulgent smile as Soren gasped for air. “He has a dragon’s spirit to be sure. Despite being so small.” Soren shuddered as a finger brushed against the edge of his brand. 

“And does the little dragon have other powers?”

Ah. 

It was bound to come up eventually. 

Though Branded could not turn into animals, like full-blood laguz, and had much shorter lifespans in comparison, many had other exemplary skills. Stefan, the crafty fucker, had a way with blades that made even Ike work up a sweat. 

Soren had such skills but the ones he knew of were far less impressive.

Aswin finally removed the metal bar that had been clamped between Soren’s teeth to shut him up. He didn’t realize how his jaw ached until it was gone and Soren rubbed his cheeks in irritation. He had a lot to say but his mouth was dry.

“So little one,” it had never occurred to Aswin to ask Soren’s name, not that Soren would tell him, “what is that you can do?” Everyone leaned closer, enraptured and clearly filled with wonder over what Soren might reveal. 

Soren’s brief smirk was all bitterness.

“I am extremely resistant to most magic.” Soren said with no inflection. The manacles at his wrist and neck seemed to mock him for the pain they caused. He wondered what kind of hellish spell was around them to send him to his knees.

“Is that all?” Lord Aswin and his guests looked severely disappointed, as if they had been promised something flashier.

“I also have a good sense of direction.”

Soren relished the look of absolute and utter fury Lord Aswin sent his way long after he had been locked in his room. Soren wondered what fool things had been promised to the man if he dropped a fortune on a Goldoan Branded. Immortal life? Magicks thus unforeseen? The ability to summon gold?

Surely it was not magic resistance and an inner compass.

But there was more to it than that.

Not only did Soren have infallible sense of direction, he could also  _ feel _ where people were in Tellius. All he had to do was think of them, though those closest to him he felt as a constant. Even now he could feel Ike like a pulse in his chest, like the force that pulled the arrow of a compass North, and he knew he would never be at ease until he was back at Ike’s side. It would eat at him like a disease. 

Though it was cold by the open sliver of window, Soren curled in on himself and perched by the glass. He stared out into the night and hoped that Ike was thinking of him. 

 

Soren had always been the type to underestimate his own value. Perhaps it had been the dark fury of his father, his mother’s near-constant mourning, or the frozen austerity of his tutors but Soren was used to grabbing for any warmth with his own strength. It would never occur to him that someone would actively seek him out.

He wondered if Ike was thinking of him; he had not even considered the possibility that Ike would be actively looking for him. 

But Soren rested so heavy in Ike’s mind, his presence was so sorely missed that Ike had scarcely rested since Soren had been taken from him. Scenarios of twisted horrors played out in his mind and he continued to move forward even when his companions were exhausted. 

Eyes red, body tired, but heart in a fire of fury, Ike had to be stopped before he collapsed from exhaustion into the dust. 

He had left Mist and Rolf with most of his mercenary company and had accepted the help of the laguz, whom he realized were after something similar, the small group of them making their way to the Calibray manse near the mountains.

Ranulf chattered about it endlessly, the only one who did not seem tired during their first rest. Ike didn’t mind so much; Ranulf had decent information and his easy confidence kept Ike’s mind off whatever scenarios he could imagine Soren being subjected to.

Ranulf did not pause, even as he was busy gathering wood and lighting a fire. “Skrimir and Caineghis called me in to say that Muarim has allowed himself to be sold into the trade, the crazy bastard. Tormod is acting as our messenger--since he’s so small he can avoid detection--and the both of them have discovered a whole network of laguz slaves on the island off the coast of Begnion. We heard the apostle was contacting you and thought,” Ike saw the mischievous look in his mismatched eyes as he tugged one of Janaff’s dun-colored feathers, “two birds one stone.”

Apparently his audience did not appreciate the bird-related joke because Lethe rolled her eyes, Janaff made a noise of disgust, and Ulki shook his head. Ike simply stared into the flames; he felt as though he had not blinked since morning. 

“I intend to end this matter quickly.” Ike said and he could hear he did not sound at all like himself.

Ranulf and Lethe’s ears flicked, picking up his tone, and Ulki gazed at him, level and expressionless. “All the better for us. We are working on orders for absolute speed and secrecy.”

“If His Highness, Prince Reyson, were to catch wind of the slave trade,” Janaff looked truly pained, “doubtless he would be off to do something about it. After being sold into slavery himself, he is rather touchy about the subject. King Tibarn would lose his mind if Prince Reyson were to be directly involved; who knows what those Begnions would do to someone as rare and comely as the heron prince?”

Such musings did not soothe Ike in the least.

He had to measure his breaths while remembering that Soren was just as rare and fair as Reyson. If they’d caused him any harm, if the man who’d bought him had done anything untoward, then Ike felt as though he would actually lose his mind. He could not focus on any further conversation; he was too busy hoping to all that was holy that Soren was safe.

Soren would be safe soon, back in his reach. No one would dare take him again.  

 


	7. Prince in Another Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a few more chapters finished so I hope I can update every 10 days or so ;)  
> And today is the entry of one of my other favorite characters: Prince Reyson. I feel like he and Soren would get along really well just for how similar they are. They both have big, powerful lovers who are WEAK to them and salty personalities haha! Reyson is a personal favorite of mine because he is a heron and herons are stereotypically peaceful and gentle, but Reyson will 100% throw down at any given moment; I like to imagine him beating people with his wings like swans do. I love him so much.   
> Enjoy!

The Calibray mansion was some horrible spiraled confection that looked like a blight on the otherwise beautiful landscape. Ike was also aware that he would not see the beauty in anything so long as Soren was held captive.

It had been some time since Ike had invaded a castle without permission and he decided not to be too hasty. His initial plan was to be invited inside before the lord of Calibray could sense danger and take Soren out of the manor. But he could always improvise if worse came to worse. 

To avoid detection, Lethe and Ranulf had wrapped dun-colored fabric around their heads to hide their ears and the hawks had adopted a similar disguise, although they both looked slightly hump-backed under their cloaks.

Ike pounded one fist on the massive wooden door and waited for what seemed like several hours. Though he had instructed Janaff and Ulki to stand a few paces back and watch or listen for any sign of Soren, Ike also glanced up at the rows of windows, hoping to see that familiar slender form. 

He was so caught up thinking of Soren that he was startled enough to grasp for the hilt of Ragnell as the door swung open from within. 

A middle-aged servant woman stood just inside, her eyes wide but expression calm. 

Ike breathed carefully. “Madam. I am Commander Ike of the Greil Mercenaries. I have urgent business with Lord Aswin.” Something about his tone must have caused her to think that he was very important, because she stood up straight and smoothed her skirts.

“Commander, forgive me for saying but…Lord Aswin is not here at this time.”

Ike felt like the world was collapsing around him. “E-Excuse me?”

“Lord Aswin is currently at his villa on the island off the eastern coast of Begnion. He is not expected back until the beginning of autumn at least.” Seeing that Ike was clearly in a state, she opened the door a little further. “Shall I send a message on your behalf? Is it an emergency?”

Ike thought of Soren.

Poring over books and curling his hair behind his ears, practicing his spells and smiling at the whirlwind whipping at his robes. Ike recalled carrying an exhausted Soren back to their barracks and how relieved he felt at that moment. His dearest friend was pressed up behind him and they were going home.  _ Home _ . 

The thought of someone locking him up, holding him,  _ touching _ him…Ike felt a visceral mix of anger and sickness that he had never experienced before. He could not even put a name to it. 

It took him a few moments to realize that Ranulf and Lethe had removed their scarves, Ranulf placing a steadying hand on Ike’s shoulder. His mismatched eyes filled Ike’s vision. “Ike. Are you alright?” 

“ _ Sub-humans _ !” The woman gasped, looking as if she wanted to slam the door shut.

“You’re a fucking  _ delight _ aren’t you?” Lethe snarled, stalking forward a few paces until Ranulf held her back.

“Easy, there.”

Her fury had affected Ike and he loomed over the servant woman. “We know what foul things your lord is up to. We know about the laguz and the Branded!” Her pale face made him think that she knew exactly what he was referring to. “He has my strategist! My friend, my…Soren!” 

“Are you birds just going to stand there or?” Ranulf asked and Ike felt Janaff and Ulki at his side before he could blast through the manor doors and tear the place apart. 

“Easy, commander.” Ulki whispered. “I’ve listened and I hear no laguz nor the rattle of chains within. She’s telling the truth.”

“He’s right.” Janaff continued. “We just need to regroup and make our way east. Just give it a bit more time.” Ike forced himself to breathe in and out, praying that Soren could afford ‘a bit more time’.    

“Oh, fuck.” Ranulf said cheerfully looking up at the sky. “We have a guest.”

An enormous shadow descended from the heavens at a speed that would surely kill most falling creatures. But Ike recognized him as he came closer and he felt a rush of relief on realizing that they had such a fearsome ally on their side. The servant woman screamed as King Tibarn of Phoenicis landed heavy and furious between the mansion door and Ike’s group. 

Janaff and Ulki paled immediately but it seemed the king’s qualm was not with them.

He turned his intense reddish brown gaze to Ike. Most normal men would flinch under such a stare but Ike had spent much time with the hawk king in the past, and Ike had grown to a similar stature and strength. He did not balk.

“General.”

“Your Highness. This cannot be mere coincidence.”

“Indeed it is not.” Tibarn glanced at the present company and even Ranulf curbed his saucy tongue. The king was clearly in a state. “I have urgent business with the lord of this manor.” The servant girl withered under his attention, looking as though the brass doorknob was the only thing keeping her on her feet.

“He’s not here.” Lethe said abruptly as the servant woman seemed unable to speak.

“We’ve asked.” Ike said letting fury seep into his tone. Knowing that Soren was not inside had him feeling ill on top of his anger. It was a long journey to the ferry that would take them to Aswin’s summer villa. “Lord Aswin and most of his household are currently in his summer villa off the eastern coast of Begnion.”

 Tibarn swore loudly.

“Your Highness, is there something the matter?” Janaff asked, shifting subtly from side to side. For a moment, Tibarn showed his trusted commanders a look that seemed torn between anger and profound fear.

Ike felt a similar way and it occurred to him immediately what was so important to bring Tibarn into Begnion.

 

It was hot as Soren inspected the silvery chains that were now linked between the manacles on his wrists and ankles. He had been caught trying to steal a tome and his smart-ass mouth had earned him no favors. He was now incapable of moving any faster than a shuffle, though at least he was not forced to wear the distasteful gag. 

Normally, Soren would be roasting alive in his dark robes under the island sun but Aswin liked to dress Soren and the other laguz in his possession in only enough fabric to preserve their decency. Soren’s waist wrap was dark violet with silver trim and it brushed against his calves as he shuffled through the sprawling gardens, trying to think of an escape plan. He had been in chains far too long.

The leafy palms to his right rustled though there was no wind and Soren felt the man’s presence before he saw. 

“You will burn if you stay out much longer.”

Muarim’s green coat blended in perfectly with the foliage and Soren could see why he preferred to keep his beast form. As he stood upright, he looked momentarily embarrassed by the length of pale blue silk that hung dangerously low on his hips. It had been a welcome surprise to see him in Aswin’s summer villa, if not for the fact that he was also trying to destroy the slave trade at the behest of Caineghis and Skrimir then for the fact that he was the only laguz in the villa who would deign to speak to a Branded.

Their conversations were brief and hushed but it was enough to keep Soren sane.

He looked around for any guards before he spoke. “The state of my skin is of little concern to me. I have other things that worry me. Like escaping from this place.”

“Always a strategist, even in captivity.” Muarim said stoically. “Clearly you have never been sunburnt.”

“I need to return to Ike.” Soren said insistently. He knew, of all beorc, Muarim held Ike in the highest regard and would go out of his way to help. Muarim smirked but Soren did not care if he could see through his rushed manipulations.

“Hopefully this can help you then.”

Muarim shuffled down behind the bushes and when he returned to view, there was a battered tome gripped in his hand. Soren felt his heartbeat stutter as he saw the tattered pages and the power contained within. 

_ Elwind _ . It was his magic, the magic he had cut his teeth on.

“Where did you get this?”

Muarim handed it over carefully, making sure that there were no guards close. “They’re very reckless with their tomes. Or perhaps they think that we laguz do not know what books are. In any case, I saw it was to be discarded though…it appears it may only take one more spell before it crumbles apart.” 

Soren could see that as well. 

The spine was frayed and Soren had gone through enough of the tomes to know when a wind spell would blast them apart into shreds of paper. He would have to use it carefully. “Thank you.”

Muarim shrugged. “Nothing between comrades.” Soren felt a rush of fondness for Muarim that he did not pretend to be overly familiar with Soren. “If I see any others, I’ll try to grab them for you.”

“Don’t do anything foolish for my sake.” Soren said more out of habit than anything else, used to saying something similar to Ike. But…he had also seen that Aswin had a heavy hand when it came to disciplining his ‘pets’. Likely he enjoyed the rush of power he felt subjecting the powerful laguz to his will.

Soren often thought his small stature and rarity were all that had kept him from getting a sound lashing. 

“Until next time, little one.” Muarim said, leaving Soren to figure out where to hide the Elwind tome as his wispy wrap was not equipped with pockets. He saw a dark green shadow ripple amongst the leaves and felt an instinctive shudder of fear, in spite of knowing it was not a foe.

He didn’t think he would ever get used to the size of laguz. He thought momentarily of being able to turn into a full sized black dragon and simply flying away from the hell that was Aswin Calibray’s villa. Instead, he had to find a spot to hide the battered Elwind tome, choosing to hide it under a rock near a distant marble fountain. He would come back for it when he found a suitable hiding place inside the villa.

Instead of returning inside where it was cool, Soren found a shady spot to hide from Lord Aswin and his guards. Though he was ill-suited for the heat, Soren would take the heated misery over any potential guests that might drop by to ogle him. Soren was making a habit of skipping meals and Aswin was vocal about his concern that Soren would starve.

They would have to drag him inside. 

He felt for Ike the moment he was relaxed and felt a stab of pain over how far Ike was from him. The days since he had been taken were viscerally painful and he had to focus on other things to keep from using the Elwind tome immediately.

He watched the breeze move through the leaves first, casting speckled shadows on his face, and then moved on to the sea birds, circling lazily on the salted wind. Because he was watching the birds, he saw them scatter as a larger shadow swooped into view directly above the villa.

Too large to be any simple bird, Soren realized after a few moments that it was a laguz and he ran from his hiding spot as the graceful creature plummeted towards the gardens, transforming in midair. Soren found something very familiar about the laguz as it floated down…

Soren’s mouth dropped open quite instinctively. It was not unusual to be stunned by this laguz in particular. 

His waist-length hair was the color of polished gold, his long eyelashes a few shades darker, his eyes twin emeralds. He was tall and lithe and beautiful, even to Soren who was cynical about beauty on the best of days, and the crowning glory of it all were his glorious, pure white wings that stretched out and shuddered from the exercise. His presence was enough to momentarily stop thought. 

“ _ Reyson _ ?” Soren asked, completely agog. 

The heron prince looked at him askance, only the slightest raise of an eyebrow showcasing his surprise at seeing Soren there. 

“You. Commander Ike’s little strategist. What are you doing here?”

Soren held up his chained wrists with a blank expression. “Getting some sun.”

“Your mouth has scarcely changed though I find your new wardrobe…refreshing.” 

Soren crossed his arms over his chest. “Forget about my lack of proper clothing. What are  _ you _ doing here? Where is Tibarn?”

Reyson looked momentarily guilty and it occurred to Soren then that Reyson had likely not told the hawk king that he was coming. Which likely meant that he was there to do something that he wasn’t supposed to do. Tibarn was surely losing his mind and Soren felt a rush of hope. 

If the Hawk King was coming… the guards who were currently standing useless and slack-jawed inside the cool halls of the villa would stand no chance.

“He…I came on my own.” Reyson said defiantly. “I heard there were laguz being forced into captivity and I came to do my part to gather intelligence.” Always so slender, even for a man grown, Reyson did not look the type to incite jail breaks but Soren was well-acquainted with the heron prince’s tenacity. Only a laguz of Tibarn’s power could dream of holding him back. “Have they taken you for your charming company?” 

“You haven’t heard? They’re taking Branded as well.”

“Their depravity knows no bounds.” Reyson hissed, so incensed that his feathers fluffed up. Soren could hear a commotion coming from the villa: shouting, running guards, and the like. They’d likely only have a few more moments of private conversation before they were beset on all sides by Aswin’s guards.

“You have seen what they are up to and I suggest you escape before they come out of that villa brandishing nets and a matching pair of chains.” Soren said this with some regret. He was always delighted watching people attempt to subdue Reyson, trying to be gentle while he beat them mercilessly with his wings. “The lord of this manor is vain and greedy and he would sacrifice his own family for a chance to have a heron.”

“I have come specifically to be captured.” Reyson said, his wide eyes turning to where an entire crowd seemed to be spilling from the villa into the gardens. “You may want to step back. You’re so slender, you may get blown away.” Soren stepped back one pace.

“No wonder you did not tell Tibarn.”

Reyson smiled and Soren felt his heart skip a beat; the heron prince was ethereally lovely. “Oh, make no mistake, Tibarn will know where I am. I’ve left him a note so he can come retrieve me and all the others enslaved within.” 

The genius of the plan hit Soren just as the first wave of guards, led by greedy Lord Aswin, began to approach one of the rarest laguz in Tellius. He stepped back, if only to deprive the lot of them from seeing his smile.

With a small smile, Reyson nodded and proceeded to use his elegant, pale wing to clout the closest guard into unconsciousness. Soren had forgotten how much he liked this aspect of Reyson.

 


	8. True Colors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy early Christmas to you all reading this! I have decided to update a little bit early in the morning since I'll be spending most of tomorrow with family.  
> Today we have more of Reyson being an absolute and unabashed chaotic bastard and Lord Aswin finally snapping. Sorry this chapter ends on a bit of a cliffhanger but...it'll be worth the wait, I promise!  
> Happy Holidays and hope you enjoy!

Soren had had a much better time since Reyson had been forcibly taken into the household of Lord Aswin. And it was not just because, after Aswin touched Reyson’s hair and asked if he was the one Bishop Oliver had lamented losing several years prior, Reyson used both wings to blacken Lord Aswin’s eyes and break his nose. Or the fact that he was the only captive in the entire place who was allowed to wear a full set of clothes because Aswin was fearful of causing Reyson stress…as well as the fact that Reyson had knocked two tailors out cold with his wings. 

No, Soren was just finally happy to have a companion who was as darkly furious about the whole situation as he was. Reyson paced on the garden path as he talked to Soren about how he came to be in Aswin’s villa.

“I intercepted a message from Muarim’s little beorc child to give to Tibarn and when I realized…” Being sold had not improved Reyson’s opinions of beorc--Begnions specifically--and his feathers puffed up in fury, “At first I thought about burning the entire place to the ground but there was the chance a laguz might have been harmed.”

Soren hid a smile behind his hand. Apparently the herons’ famed peaceful temperaments had skipped over Reyson. In spite of his slender and beautiful exterior, he could be a real force of nature.

He thought nothing of mayhem when beorc pushed him too far. 

“I am not…strong enough to free the laguz on my own.” Reyson said, chewing at his thumbnail.

Soren shrugged, thinking of the litany of injuries and inconveniences Reyson had caused. “You’ve been doing admirably thus far.” 

“However, I understand my appeal and I know that one of the strongest laguz in Tellius will come to my aid. He swore that any beorc who took me captive again would have to answer to the hawk king of Phoenicis.” Reyson laid bare this chilling oath with surprising sweetness. Soren felt a pinprick of jealousy over how much Reyson was cherished by King Tibarn. “I have left word that I am coming to Aswin and I will wait until Tibarn arrives with his trusted captains.”

“Unorthodox but cunning. Perhaps Ike should take you on as a strategist.” Soren said so jokingly, but the sadness seemed to well up from nowhere. 

Reyson brightened. “Even better with you here; Commander Ike is doubtlessly tearing Begnion apart to find you. With the both of them searching, we’ll have this whole wretched place collapsed to rubble around us.”

“Nothing would please me more.” Soren said dryly. “But Ike is working with the Apostle. He has no time to be searching for a half-bred strategist when hundreds of others need his assistance. I’ll find a way out myself.” 

Reyson gave him a funny look, something like disbelief.

“In any case, Tibarn will come for me.” He said stubbornly. “Hopefully before they try to force me into a similar scrap of cloth.” The two of them snorted over the ridiculous state of Soren’s clothing before Reyson sobered a little. “This…he has not… _ hurt  _ you, has he?”

His meaning was clear and Soren was thankful for small blessings.

“No. The fucker likes to touch my hair but he prevents all others from doing more.” Some of Aswin’s ‘friends’ had tried to corner Soren in dark corners to run hands up his legs, but they soon learned that Soren had sharp fingernails and sharp teeth. Aswin saw the scratches and angry bites and must have put two and two together. Soren was allowed to avoid guests if he wished, the privilege of his rarity. There was no question the same courtesies would be extended to Reyson. “I doubt he’ll do much more to you.”

Reyson twisted his lips in distaste. “I do not easily suffer the touch of others.”

“Nor do I.” Soren said and his hands unconsciously rubbed at the terrible silver around his wrists. “But…it hurts quite a lot when they use these.” Soren recalled the first time he had scratched Aswin hard enough to draw blood, when the man had tried to touch his brand. Soren had been jolted to the point where Aswin had had to carry him back to his room and then touched Soren’s brand as much as he liked. 

Soren had crushed his fingernails into the palms of his hands to keep from feeling anything but some fight had left him that afternoon. 

Soren looked to the sky in silence, wishing Ike was with him now. 

It was getting hard for Soren to feel where Ike was. 

 

Reyson was beautiful and rare and hard to control. 

Perhaps his weeks in captivity had dulled Soren’s sense of danger but he did not immediately realize that this combination that they both shared--though Soren did not consider himself beautiful--was what drove Aswin mad with need. He liked to control his ‘things’. 

It was only a matter of time before he tried to bring Reyson to heel.

Soren was once again hiding out in his room with a book he had stolen from Aswin’s library. 

Normally books were too precious to desecrate but Soren was desperate. He wrote in the margins the schedule of the guards and on the rare blank pages he had drawn an elaborate map of the villa. With his Elwind tome he had to plan an escape with no room for error. There might not be a second chance. 

The abrupt cry that echoed through the villa startled Soren so badly that his quill scratched a long black stripe across the page.

Soren heard the screaming continue and leapt to his feet instinctively, nearly tripping over the shackles on his feet. When the screams did not cease, he shuffled over to where he had stashed his Elwind tome inside a decorative vase and moved as quickly as he could toward the sound of the noise. It was coming from Aswin’s chambers.

Being on the small side did have its advantages as no one noticed when Soren slipped into the rooms to see what kind of hell was being raised. He felt the pages of the tome crinkle under his grip. 

It was Reyson screaming for help.

He was a whirlwind of a fight; his wings were flapping in desperation while in the grip of two guards, white down swirling in the air like snow, and his legs and arms were thrashing at Aswin and the mage next to him. It soon became fairly apparent that they were trying to undress Reyson, though Soren was unsure why. 

“Gods, watch the  _ wings _ !” One of the guards said after narrowly dodging one blow.

“Only one can take such liberties with me and live!” Reyson snarled, his face still beautiful even in fury.

“Be still, heron prince.” Aswin tried to calm him but Reyson’s green eyes flashed in response. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I just want to get a better look at you. Such a  _ beauty _ .” It was clear he did not want to look so much as he wanted control; his desire to control Reyson was thick in his tone.

Soren shuddered as Aswin’s hands ran the length of Reyson’s flanks and it became fairly obvious that Reyson was tiring. His wings were shaking from exertion and soon his arms and legs would go limp. 

Reyson could clearly feel it and he finally let panic set in. 

His eyes were crushed closed and Soren swore he saw Reyson’s glossy bottom lip tremble. “Help me, please. You said…you’d  _ save _ me.” The plea was clearly meant for someone else and Soren had a pretty good idea of who it was. But he wasn’t here and Soren was.

Soren was cynical but not heartless and he could easily recall how much he hated the thought of anyone trying to forcibly disrobe him. 

He moved on instinct and the pages fell open in his hands.

He felt the magic swirl in the air, into his lungs, and cause his hair to stand on end. With magic he was not small and slender and helpless. He was a terror and he was faster than Lord Aswin’s mage. Careful to avoid Reyson, Soren all but screamed the Elwind spell, feeling the pages crumble in his hands as green bolts of wind sliced through the air and through the bodies of the guards holding Reyson.

He was almost breathless as their dead bodies fell to the ground and a shaken Reyson fell atop them. Aswin looked at Soren with a mix of awe and fury, his eyes darting down as Soren’s promise of escape crumbled to dust in his hands.

Perhaps some of Ike’s weakness for alliances had rubbed off on Soren.

More guards crashed into the room, doubtless drawn by the screams and the sudden silence as well as the muscular green form of Muarim, who shattered the glass of the window closest to Reyson. Clearly the Calibray villa had not seen such action in quite some time, because the guards and their lord looked pale. 

Muarim’s gleaming sharp canines gave Soren the jolt of adrenaline he needed for a clear mind. “ _ Fly Reyson _ ! Fly away from here!”

He couldn’t get any other warnings out because two guards tackled him in the back. Soren felt like his back was broken and the wind was knocked out of him as he hit the marble floors. Elbows dug into his neck and he couldn’t see what was going on around him as his vision blurred. 

He could hear massive wings flapping and the yelps of guards as muscled wings collided with their bodies. He also heard the pained snarl of an enormous tiger around the same time as the electricity of a thunder spell caused the hair on his arms to stand up. Reyson yelled again and Soren was sure he was going to pass out from the pressure on his neck.

When things were suitably under control enough for rational thought, Aswin’s voice broke through the fog. 

“I’m going to…I’ll return in a moment.” His tone was trembling between calm control and fear at first but it took on a note of fury as he continued. “In the meantime. Take  _ him _ ,” there was no question in Soren’s mind that he was the source of the anger, “to the showroom. Chain him to the floors and make sure he cannot cast any further spells.”

Soren was hoisted to his feet--or at least upright, as his toes dangled an inch above the floor--and with air came sight.

The once-beautiful floors were splattered with blood and more blood was being added from broken noses and split lips, courtesy of Reyson who was standing, shuddering from fingers to wing tips. Though his jacket gaped a little around the neck, he appeared to be fine. 

Muarim was another story.

He had clearly been shocked by the shackles around his limbs, because he had reverted back to his semi-beorc form and he lay unmoving on the floor. 

He breathed in unsteadily as a half-dozen guards hoisted him up, dragging him toward the showroom. 

The fight was out of Reyson and Soren, the two of them accepting that at the moment they were hopelessly outmatched. They were both limp and quiet as Aswin’s phalanx of guards took them to the windowless circular showroom where Aswin showed off his newest acquisitions to his society friends.

When Aswin returned, Soren could scarcely move, much less cast spells. His neck and ankles were chained to the floor so tightly that even looking up made the back of his neck ache; his wrists were chained behind his back. The metal bar from the auction house had been inserted back into his mouth so he couldn’t speak.

As much as he hated the position, having Reyson and Muarim see him in this state made Soren want to scream more than anything.

“Oh thank god, they’re both quiet.” Aswin sighed. 

“How did he manage to get ahold of an Elwind tome?” The mage asked as he wrung his hands in his sleeves.

“I intend to find out soon enough.” Aswin replied, his voice sharp with anger and Soren had the good sense not to glance at Muarim. He kept his eyes firmly ahead and tried not to think about how they would make him talk. Fine boots filled his vision.

Aswin looked down at him and Soren was filled with the horror over the man looking at him as if he were a bothersome object. There was no empathy in his eyes and Soren knew he had crossed some invisible, unspoken line.

“They told me you had a mouth on you. Perhaps I should just cut out your tongue and save myself the trouble.”

“Don’t--” Reyson choked.

Soren simply closed his eyes and prayed that his tongue, his greatest weapon, would not be cut from him. His body trembled in spite of wanting to appear calm and unaffected; the grip of the chains was solid and Soren knew he would be helpless if a knife slipped between his teeth and-- 

He wished fervently that Ike was next to him. 

Ike could cut the chains from the ground, he could tear the villa apart. He could calm Soren. He was the only one but Soren was so frightened, he could not even sense where Ike was. It would be too disheartening, to feel him be so far away.

He felt a soft hand cup his chin and when his head was tilted up he saw Aswin’s cruel, indulgent gaze.

“Gods, but I paid a  _ fortune _ for you and you are lovely. I suppose your rarity and spirit is all part of your…charm.” Soren felt a chill, his body trembling even harder as Aswin withdrew a dagger and brushed the cool flat of it against Soren’s cheekbone. “I suppose we’ll have to think of other ways to bring you to heel.”

Soren did not even try to fight back. The fight had fled from him as he considered all the terrible tortures Aswin could visit on him.

Instead, the soft hands stroked his hair and it was almost worse. Reyson made a noise of disgust and indignance when Soren stayed quiet. 

Muarim could not hold back either. “ _ Leave him be _ .” Aswin ignored him.

“I bet you’ll be something to see when you’ve grown more. Half-dragon and  _ mine _ .” There was the feeling of someone pulling on Soren’s hair, grasping chunks of it into a fist, so unlike Ike’s gentle fingers braiding it. 

And Soren felt like he was going to vomit--or maybe it was just the taste of the metal bar in his mouth. He hated being without Ike and he hated being touched and he utterly despised the thought of being a thing, a possession. It made him feel like he was back in Daein and things were going to hurt and… 

The hands fell away from his hair and Aswin walked back to where a chair had been brought for his lordship’s comfort. He meant to torture Soren leisurely.

Electricity raced across Soren’s bare skin.

  
  



	9. All the General’s Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That cliffhanger got me so many concerned comments that I decided to update as quickly as I could today ;)   
> Ike and Tibarn are here and they are PISSED just as everyone hoped and they are going to tear this place apart. You know things have gone to hell when Ranulf is the voice of reason haha! Also I imagine that Ike is SO GOOD AND CHIVALROUS; even when he's kind of into Soren's outfit, he still covers him up before anything.  
> Enjoy party people!

It had taken them the better part of four weeks to get from the mainland to the island off the eastern coast of Begnion and it would have gone faster if Ike hadn’t been the only beorc or if he had been better at haggling. He was fairly sure the grizzled ferryman he had bribed to take himself, Ranulf, and Lethe across the bay had fleeced him but he was one of the few who would allow laguz on board. Tibarn and his men had flown.

When they had disembarked, Ike was shocked by the sheer opulence of the island.

The boats tethered to the spacious dock were as clean, crisp, and white as new linens, the dock itself smelling of orange blossoms and spices rather than sweat and fish guts. Ike was reasonably sure that the stalls set up in neat lines parallel to the dock spent more on their rents in one month than Ike spent on living costs for a whole year. It was a haven for the wealthy and powerful, far from the Apostle’s eye.

It was no wonder Aswin Calibray had brought Soren to the island. 

They had plans to meet Tibarn, Ulki, and Janaff outside the port city just after sundown and Ike took their first afternoon in the town to ask around about the local villas. 

In such a wealthy area, a stranger with a sword was cause for suspicion so Ike came with a lie that seemed fairly plausible.

“I’m here to find work. As a guard or a hired sword. I heard perhaps Lord Calibray’s manor was hiring and I need the silver.” The proprietress he had been conversing with looked over his tall frame, his bare forearms, tattered clothes, and the sheer size of Ragnell and must have decided that mercenary work suited him. She asked him no further questions about his intents on the island.

However, she couldn’t tell him the exact location of the Calibray villa. That took him a few more merchants before he got a satisfactory description of and directions to the villa.

Lethe and Ranulf were noisily crunching on roasted fish skewers as Tibarn and his men landed behind the copse of trees they had chosen as their meetup point.

“There are laguz all over the island.” Ranulf said as the crisped tail disappeared into his clever mouth. “But thank the gods your highness, Ike used his rippling arms to get us some directions. Has anyone been thoughtful enough to come up with a plan?”

Ike had thought of it plenty and without Soren’s impulse control and elegant strategies, Ike was inclined to go with his instincts.

“I go through the front door.”

Lethe looked at him as though she could not believe he had risen to be a general. “Because that worked out for us _ so well _ last time.”

“He’s here.” Ike said, his throat raw. “They’ll let me in and while the guards are distracted with me, Tibarn, Ulki, and Janaff can land in the gardens. We can go tonight and do reconnaissance.”

“Lethe and I should do it,” Ranulf said quickly, “I can see you and the hawk king breaking protocol and storming the castle.” He smiled at Tibarn’s stormy expression and shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

“If he hurts Reyson this night then there will be hell to pay.” Tibarn said in a level, terrifying tone. 

“I’d love nothing more than to see you collect.” Ranulf shuddered out of his cloak. “We’ll be quick.”  

Janaff went with them, his superior eyesight an enormous help for mapping the gardens, and the three of them were back an hour later, smelling of dust and sweat. Ranulf gave his report of the villa first and Janaff filled in the details of what he could see inside.

“I believe that it is well guarded but if we can free some of the tiger laguz within, as well as get some magic into Soren’s hands, it will be fairly easy.” Ranulf concluded. Clearly he was relaxed at the thought of Tibarn and Ike as a fighting force.

“My concern is hostages.” Lethe allowed her pragmatic pessimism to soak through. “If they see an assault the beorc will likely take their most valuable as hostages.”

Ike exchanged a glance with Tibarn and knew that Lord Calibray would be utterly destroyed if he did such a thing to Soren or Reyson.

“Tomorrow at midafternoon we will make our move.” Ike said before Tibarn could interject. “We can use the same strategy we used for the mansion in the mountains. When you see Lethe and Ranulf run inside then you can drop into the villa’s gardens and come in from the western side.”

 

Naturally things did not go as smoothly as Ike had planned.

The first sign that things were not going well was not long after one of the main servants opened the doors to Ike. Ike had scarcely introduced himself when Ulki plummeted from the sky with a perspiring temple and a panicked warning:

“Reyson is  _ screaming _ .”

He was clearly in a rush to let Ike know before Tibarn stormed the villa and Ike reformulated a change of plans as he bashed through the door into the villa. The first step of his plan involved drawing Ragnell and rushing to find Reyson.

It did not take long. 

The guards were obviously ill-prepared for whatever Reyson was yelling about and even less so for the skill of Ike and his two laguz companions. Lethe and Ranulf launched themselves, claws extended, and Ike swung Ragnell with as much skill as could be managed in the crowded halls. He silently begged Reyson to keep making noise until he could find his way to the heron prince and, hopefully, Soren.

He found the source after seven rooms.

Ike had seen many things that had shocked and enraged him during his time as a mercenary but violence was so much worse when it was someone he cared about more deeply than himself. It had been some time since anyone could knock the air out of him but he remembered the feeling and it rushed through his torso.

He had stumbled into a room that only a wealthy person could have, in that it seemed almost entirely unused, almost empty.  _ Almost _ .

Soren was kneeling on the ground, his long, black hair snaking across the marble floors. His arms were pinned behind him, his ankles chained to the floor; a thin line of spittle stretched from Soren’s bottom lip to a bar of discarded silver and shredded leather straps. It looked like the bits that Titania and Oscar strapped the horses into. Ike hoped, with latent fury, that it was not a gag.

Through his shock and anger, he was duly aware that he recognized the laguz kneeling next to Soren, his lush green hair in disarray. Muarim scarcely spared Ike, Lethe, and Ranulf a glance in favor of yanking at something in the floor near Soren’s neck. Ike crossed over to them in three quick steps.

He saw that Muarim was struggling with a thin silver chain and one of the weaker links snapped neatly the moment Ike lent him a hand. Ike was on his knees a half second afterward, snapping the chains pinning Soren’s legs to the floor. He did not pause to think about why Soren had been chained to the ground in the first place or he might have lost what was left of his mind.

Relief and rage warred for dominance in his throat as he turned Soren over and embraced him carefully. For a moment he was struck with the childish panic that Soren was dead, his heartbeat lost over the pounding of Ike’s heart, but then Ike felt a weak hand pressing against his chest.

“Please…no more…”  

“Soren.  _ Soren. _ ” Ike found his voice and it was choked with all he felt. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”

“Ike?” His weak voice was tinged with disbelief and he moaned in pain as Ike jostled him, looking for a vulnerary.

“I’m here.” Ike assured him. He found the vulnerary and pulled the cork out with his teeth because his hands were shaking. “I’m here. Just hang on.” He poured the precious milky blue liquid over Soren’s skin, a new emotion crowding the relief and anger when he realized he had very rarely seen Soren bare so much skin. When the vulnerary was exhausted, Ike tore the cloak from his shoulders to wrap Soren in it. With Ranulf and Lethe guarding his back, he took a moment to interrogate Muarim. “What have they done to him?”

Muarim motioned to the silver bands at his neck and wrists. “They have magicked this silver with dark spells, making us enormously weak to magic. Your strategist was ordered to be tortured for protecting the heron prince.”

Ike’s eyes darted to the corner of the room, where Reyson stood with defiance set on his lovely face. “Commander.”

“Reyson. Tibarn has come for you.” Ike held Soren a little closer as Reyson flushed in delight.

“I will go to him and tell him to save the lord of this villa for you to deal with. Your Soren is worth ten of these beorc guards; do not let him leave you again.” Reyson tried to give Ike a withering look but Ike was more than capable of giving one in return. He would never let anything like this happen to Soren ever again.

“We will--”

“Ike.” Soren was still shaky but he sounded determined and Ike was weak to whatever Soren wanted. “Ike, get me a tome. I am going to  _ ruin _ these bastards.” Though the vulnerary was working, he was still unsteady on his feet and Ike was furious again at how extensive the damage must have been. 

Ike wanted to argue but he knew that look in Soren’s crimson eyes and that his beloved strategist would go whether or not he approved. 

He took up Ragnell in one hand and hoisted up Soren in the other arm, leading the way back into the insanity of the villa. 

There was something graceful about the way the bird laguz attacked any beorc who were fool enough to cross them in battle. Most of the fighting was confined to the gardens of the villa and Tibarn was a handsome chestnut and black blur as he used his massive wings and claws to decimate the hired guards. Reyson, who was running next to Ike, began to sprint faster until he too was clouting men on the backs of their heads with his wings.

“Tibarn!” He shouted, his joy beautiful on him.

The elegant hawk’s head swiveled to the call of his name and he swooped over to Reyson--leaving Ulki and Janaff to deal with the guards left standing--transforming midair so that Reyson could throw himself into a solid chest, rather than a tuft of feathers. Tibarn kissed the top of Reyson’s head, always gentle when it came to the heron prince, and whispered something intensely into Reyson’s golden hair. 

Ike held Soren a little closer, wishing that he could be so bold. 

But despite the touching reunion that was unfolding in front of them, Soren remained brutally pragmatic and was scanning the piles of wounded men for a mage that had no further use for his tome. “Ike, put me down so I can--.”

“You are a fool if you think I’ll let you leave my side.” Ike said, pressing his cheek to Soren’s temple, which was as much as he dared. Even so, Soren did not argue and flushed near as red as his eyes. 

Soren seemed to weigh less than Ragnell, so Ike had no issue at all fighting with Soren in his arms and he soon became glad that he did not let Soren leave his grasp. He felt the hair stand up on his arms, as if electricity was in the air and then--

Ike almost dropped Soren as he began to thrash and scream in Ike’s arms and Muarim also fell as if he had been shocked. Clearly Soren was in pain and Ike would have burned the villa to the ground to have it stop.

He cast his eyes around wildly, looking for what was causing Soren such distress.

His eyes first fell on the glowing bands of silver on Soren and Muarim and he remembered Muarim saying that the silver had been magicked. Then it was only a matter of finding the mage. 

Ike felt his heart seize with flames when he saw the spellcaster. 

Later he would realize that only the lord of the manor could afford such clothes and a fine spellbook and he cursed himself for not taking his time. Instead, without releasing Soren, Ike raced across the fine gardens and swung Ragnell in a deadly silver arc. He used every bit of force in his body to swing the sword, too furious to even harbor the thought of peace.

This man hurt Soren and so he had to die.

The man’s eyes widened and his mouth stopped the spell, but it was too late. Ragnell, sharpened daily to a deadly point, took his head off at his shoulders and Soren went limp, Ike’s cloak smelling of smoke. 

“ _ Bastard _ .” Ike hissed, slamming Ragnell into the earth so that he could shift Soren to both arms. 

His tattered crimson cloak fell open, revealing Soren’s bare, reddened skin. Soren, ever strong, had only let two tears of pain slip down his cheek but it was enough to crack Ike’s heart in two. 

Ranulf came to him, in his beorc-like form, spattered in blood as Ike found another one of his vulneraries. “Most of the guards have been disarmed and we are going to search the villa for other laguz and beorc. Lethe and Reyson are caring for Muarim. Shall we wait for you commander?”  

Ike’s free hand was cupping the back of Soren’s head, his black hair running through Ike’s fingers. Soren’s fingers were trembling as he gripped Ike’s belt, whispering Ike’s name as Ike poured the vulnerary over his bare skin for a second time. Ike would not have left him if Begnion offered him all the gold in their coffers.

Ike could not hold back and kissed the wetness from Soren’s cheeks, kissed his forehead, his eyelids. He could not find the courage to kiss where he would have liked.

“Go without me. I will stay with Soren.”

Even after Soren had gained back enough strength to stand, he remained in Ike’s arms out in the quiet of the gardens. 

 


	10. By His Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to being done! I'd like to say that this one makes up for all the heartache of the past 9 chapters but...I'm not going to make it that easy on you all ;)  
> Plus Soren is dramatic and insecure so you know he'd overthink.  
> Also I love the idea that A. Ike is almost constantly getting hit on, B. horny birds Tibarn and Reyson are literally unable to keep their hands off of each other and were likely Ike's sexual awakening after he walked in on them in close quarters.  
> Enjoy!

Though Ike and Soren were never more than an arms length from each other in the week following their liberation of the Calibray villa, their embrace in the gardens was the only time that Ike had touched Soren. His beloved strategist, his irreplaceable mage had ignored the heat of the island and laced himself back into robes that fell to his wrists and ankles and had set out with single-minded determination.

He had been slighted, and only Reyson’s legendary vindictiveness could have outstripped Soren’s desire for revenge. Luckily, they were both working together to cause absolute hell on the island.

With all the laguz and Branded freed from the Calibray mansion, Ike employed their successful strategy at wealthy villas nearby and their motley army grew. It was to the point where they would arrive at a villa and find it already abandoned, any slaves left by their fleeing captors confused but happy to see their brethren and Ike. Though Volke often decried Ike’s method of collecting allies as cumbersome and ineffective in comparison to smaller groups, this time it was working to their benefit; his group was being labeled as a scourge on Begnion and it was only after a week’s work.

Normally he would have been proud and elated.

But the victories were soured when he could not close the gap between himself and Soren.

He wanted to touch Soren easily, to stroke his hair and lean against him and pull him close, but he thought of what his dearest friend might have endured and pulled his hands back. Ike did not think he could bear it if he placed his hand on Soren’s shoulder and saw Soren flinch. He could only toss and turn at night thinking of Soren writhing in pain and wondering what other kinds of hell Soren had endured while Ike had gone in the _wrong direction_.

His guilt was intense.

And it was compounded by his dreams, of all things. 

When he did manage to finally fall asleep, Ike had been having intensely vivid dreams about Soren. Soren in their home in Crimea, when all others were out, Soren coming into his bedroom. He seemed hesitant but his gaze was firm and unwavering, and he was wearing that gauzy, indigo length of fabric Ike had rescued him in.

He could see the full length of Soren’s pale, shapely legs as he walked closer and he felt something new and trembling when he saw Soren’s slim waist and pale skin and the infinitesimal curve of Soren’s hips. Ike felt as though he was holding his breath and hyperventilating all at once, his body trembling as Soren stepped closer and closer. Ike was lost in the garnet of his eyes and the deep black of his long lashes. 

Soren would touch his leg and whisper his name in a desperate tone Ike had never heard before--

And Ike would immediately jolt awake. 

He could not imagine that Soren, who was so careful to cover himself from neck to ankles and who would likely find the wrap tinged with horrible memories, would ever want to wear such a thing again. But the thought of it had Ike feeling guilty and tingly all at once. 

A cold bath usually helped him tamp down any further thoughts.

It was immediately after one of these freezing baths that Ike saw Tibarn, Ulki, Janaff, and Reyson return from their morning scouting. They had been doing so before dawn so that Janaff and Ulki could listen and look for captured laguz. Clearly they had been successful because Reyson looked positively jubilant as they landed.

Ike had just enough time to pull on his trousers before the four bird laguz came rushing over to announce their findings.

“Reyson.”

“General Ike!” His lovely green eyes were blazing with excitement and his wings fluffed up to almost twice their normal size. “We have searched the rest of this god-forsaken island and we have not found trace of a single remaining laguz that is imprisoned.” His smile was so genuinely delighted and breathtaking that even Ulki, normally so impassive, seemed entranced. 

When Ike shook Reyson’s beauty from his thoughts, he gave a rare smile in return. “Despite most not being in any sort of army, this group is a force to be reckoned with.”

“We’ll celebrate this evening before finding a way to bring everyone home.” Tibarn agreed, resting one hand lightly on the back of Reyson’s neck and Ike saw his dark thumb rubbing the elegant length of Reyson’s throat. 

“I’ll let everyone know.”

Ike completely abandoned finding his shirt in favor of letting the others know that they did not need to prepare for any travel or battle that afternoon. Ranulf and Lethe arrived back from their trip to the port in search of news, and Ranulf was also grinning ear to fuzzy ear as he bounded up and transformed in front of Ike.

“General Ike! Good news from the ports. Empress Sanaki and her pegasus riders have been conducting raids on villas and auction houses in the capital and they have been wildly successful. I’m also told that some of the more unsavory characters of the city have been employed to track down the mercenaries who grab our people in the first place. You beorc always astound with your cunning.” Ike nodded; Volke’s hand was clear in this particular plot and he wondered how much his hired assassin was getting for this job. Knowing the Begnion pockets, it was probably a hell of a payout. Ranulf did not notice that Ike was only half paying attention and was bouncing around a considerably less exuberant Lethe. “The entire trade is in disarray and in less than two months time!”

The other laguz found his excitement infectious and several others were beginning to whoop and cheer and even clap the more reserved Brandeds on the shoulders.

Soren had still been resting while Ike was bathing and Ike turned back to tell him the good news: that he need not be afraid or seek out his vengeance any further. With the slave trade gone, no one would seek to take him away again.

Soren was sitting up in the small cot he had allocated as his own, a blanket wrapped around his thin shoulders. Ike wished he was bold enough to reach over and pull back Soren’s silky hair out of his eyes.

His red eyes flicked to Ike’s bare chest and then to the ground.

“The empress has effectively ended the slave trade. It has Volke’s hand, I am sure of it.” Ike smiled again, hoping that Soren would notice, even though he was looking down, “You need not worry anymore, Soren. We can go home now.”

Soren exhaled and gave a pale approximation of a smile. 

“Yes. I suppose...it’s all over then.”

Ike hoped in his heart that Soren would move forward into his arms, that they could embrace and celebrate their victory with the rest of their newfound comrades. He wanted Soren to smile up at him in that sweet, private way of his, as if his smiles were meant for Ike and Ike alone. 

But Soren stood and walked away, his thin shoulders drooping as if he had been dealt some terrible news. Ike felt his heart break a little.

He had saved Soren’s body but his heart was somehow still in chains too far for Ike to reach.

 

Soren, by virtue of being a Branded--a half dragon no less--and prickly by nature, had not exactly endeared himself to their new comrades. They had heard of his illustrious bloodline and had likely heard tale of his vicious mind and gave him a wide berth. Even those who had fought beside him before, like Reyson and Muarim, seemed too excited to notice that he was not himself.

So Ike was the only one who worried as they celebrated into the night.

In one of the abandoned villas, the tiger laguz sniffed out some fine wine and food that had been abandoned and would surely spoil if left and Tibarn was more than happy to incite a raucous party in the mansion grounds. Celebrating their freedom and the delicious downfall of their captors, things were spiraling into wild debauchery.

Ranulf was rotating a spit over the fire they had built on the once beautifully manicured lawn and was alternating between annoying Lethe and Janaff. Ulki and Muarim were intense enough to deter anyone from monopolizing the wine stores and--the last Ike had seen of them--Reyson was nibbling delicately on his greens while stealing sips of wine from Tibarn’s goblet.

At the insistence of all the laguz and Branded present, Ike allowed himself some sweet wine.

He brought a glass to Soren, where he was sitting in the shadows, a little set apart from the rest of the party. “Wine, Soren? It’s very good.” The jewel-toned red suited Soren’s pallor and matched his eyes, but he waved it away. 

“No. Thank you. You enjoy it in my stead.”

Ike sat next to him, keeping a decent distance and noticed, with great alarm, the dark circles under Soren’s eyes. He wondered if Soren had also been kept awake at night. He longed to reach over and rub the circles away with his thumbs but he lost his nerve. Soren still had the same wilting look to him and Ike made the decision that he would pry just a little and see if he could elevate his strategist’s mood. He didn’t know if he could bear seeing Soren wandering through their shared home in Crimea with that haunted, dejected look on his delicate features.

“Soren,” those lovely, wide, scarlet eyes swiveled to meet him and Ike’s mouth went dry, “would you want--?”

He could not finish his thought, could not ask Soren what plagued him, to see if he wanted to share a cot so that they could gain back the ease that they had lost, because two female laguz cats approached him with easy smiles and a terrifying tilt to their hips.

“General.”

Soren stood smoothly and his face was carefully blank. “I’ll be back.”

Ike stood to follow him but the laguz women blocked his path, fluttering their eyelashes and looking at him as if they were planning to roast him on the fire and devour him. Panic consumed him and he found his tongue tied in knots as he attempted to extricate himself from the situation. 

“Would you like to join us for a drink, General Ike?”

“For a beorc you cut a fine figure…”

“We would keep you company this evening, if you are so inclined.” Ike felt a finger light touch on the curve of his bicep and pulled back, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He was absolutely useless at dealing with women who were interested in him. 

“Y-You are too kind.” He stammered, feeling the flush of embarrassment glow from his neck to his cheeks. “But I must go find my friend and see if he...if he needs anything from me.” The laguz women exchanged a knowing glance before accepting his excuse and sauntering away.

“If you change your mind…” 

Her friend laughed, her violet cat ear flicked saucily. “I _told_ you he wouldn’t want to.”

The other shrugged. “So the rumors are true then…”

That gave Ike pause and he wondered what these rumors were about him that the laguz women were privy to. Normally he would ask Soren, since his strategist was always more perceptive, but he could hardly do that while Soren was absent from his side. Not being able to see him had Ike in a panic and he downed the rest of his wine, leaving Soren’s untouched on top of a decorative stone. 

Then he trotted toward the villa in search of Soren. 

Someone had had enough common sense to light some torches inside the villa and it only took a few moments of exploring before Ike saw something he was likely not supposed to see. 

The wine had clearly gotten to both Tibarn and Reyson because they were wrapped tightly around each other; Reyson had obviously pulled Tibarn into a dark corner but had not accommodated for the king’s bulk. They were not hidden in the least and Ike could barely sneak past for all that their wings were in the way.

“When we return to Phoenicis,” Tibarn sounded positively intoxicated though Ike knew it was due to Reyson’s heart-stopping beauty rather than the vintage of the wine, “I’ll have to...to reprimand you _thoroughly_. Punish you for fleeing from my arms.”

Anyone else on earth might have felt the deepest dread at the threat of being punished by Tibarn, but Reyson shuddered sweetly and wrapped his hands in Tibarn’s dark hair. Though Ike did not fully understand, he had the distinct feeling that Reyson would enjoy whichever punishment Tibarn had in mind for him.

“You don’t scare me, Tibarn.”

His gall was astonishing but it seemed to inflame Tibarn. His hands slid up the length of Reyson’s legs and Ike saw that his legs were bare beneath his robes. Reyson’s face was finer than any master’s painting in the candlelight and Ike hurried past to give them their privacy before he became affected by it. He owed it to them after what they had taught him.

As a young man, Ike was unaware that two men could be so intimate.

Luckily, he had stumbled on a similar scene to enlighten him, seeing Tibarn’s strong body bare and thrusting, holding Reyson tenderly against the side of a supply wagon. He had been holding Reyson by the base of his wings to keep them out of the way and Reyson, ever savage, had been clawing soft gouges into Tibarn’s back and arms. 

Their faces had been lost in ecstasy, their voices the soft gasps that Ike had only dared to imagine in his most secret dreams. 

That image had been burned into Ike’s mind, though…

When he revisited the idea of holding another in such a way...the long hair in his hands was always fine and black as ebony silk. 

 


	11. The Beloved Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a little early but! Have a new chapter!  
> I have a great new fic idea for these 2 so I'm going to try to finish this story as soon as I can so I can start the next story. Finally it's all out in the open and now Soren and Ike can make up for a few years of lost loving ;) Next chapter will be exploring some of the fun (coughsexycough) tags! Hope you all enjoy!

Ike felt the flames before he saw them. 

Intense heat was coming from the north wing and he trotted a little faster in case a fire had broken out and they needed to evacuate. As he approached the end of the hall, he saw the telltale orange glow of a hearty blaze and he sincerely hoped that Soren was not in such a state to burn the villa down. His face perspired as he peered across the threshold. 

It was Soren.

It was astonishing that he was not sweating profusely, what with the blaze in front of him and his long sleeves. He had a single Fire tome in his hands and was chanting steadily, his eyes assuming that faraway look that many men had after seeing the horrors of war. As soon as a page burned to cinders, Soren took a deep breath and resumed his chanting. 

The unfortunate target of his ire was lying in a glowing red lump on the floor, twisted beyond all recognition and the fine marble was blackened with scorch marks. Only the metal plate hammered into the ground, the metal loop welded to the top, gave Ike any indication as to what the room had once been used for.  

He would be willing to wager hard coin that this room was where the previous owner of the villa had displayed his living prizes and Soren clearly wanted all memory of it melted away. 

Ike let him cast his magic until all the pages of the Fire tome had burned away, leaving Soren with the charred binding in his hands. The chains were entirely unrecognizable but it looked to him as though Soren wished he had another magic tome. He wondered if all the fire tomes in the world would be enough. 

Soren’s shoulders slumped and Ike felt it like a spear to his breastplate.

He covered the room in two easy strides and put his arm across Soren’s collarbone. Soren did not jolt; he knew that only Ike would be bold enough to lay such a familiar hand on him without express permission. 

“Ike.”

“Does it feel any better?”

Ike felt familiar slim hands grip his forearm. “No. I fear...I fear I could scorch this island to the bones and I’d still be...angry with everything. I want to burn the memories themselves.” Then, very quietly, “I can still feel the silver around my neck.”

Ike had gone to the forge himself to chisel the magicked silver away from Soren’s skin.

Ike rubbed his fingers along the bare skin of Soren’s neck as if to prove that there was nothing there and he regretted killing Lord Aswin so quickly. “Soren...no one will ever do that to you again.” Ike would kill them as well.

“As if we could guarantee such a thing.” Soren’s words came faster, as they always did when he was agitated. “What a strategist I am. What a fearsome mage of the Greil Mercenaries who can be captured by common sellswords and shackled by men who have never held a sword outside of their family heirlooms? And I could not even escape on my own...I am so helpless to have you disregard your duties and waste precious resources--”

Ike could bear it no longer and turned Soren gently so that they were facing each other.

Soren looked bitter, sorrowful and furious, but he could not meet Ike’s gaze. “Soren, none of this is your doing. And you had to know that I would come for you.” Ike’s hands trembled. “I would always...always…”

Ike knew Soren hated being from his side as much as he hated being apart. If Soren was taken forcefully from his side, Ike would  _ always  _ come for him; he was almost offended that Soren didn’t think he would. 

“I don’t understand!” Soren’s fists pushed against Ike’s chest but Ike was too solid to be pushed away. “I’m not--I’m just…” Soren had always been a little insecure and Ike could hear the excuses on his lovely lips.  _ He was not Ike’s family. He was just some boy who had inserted himself into Ike’s life. He was nothing _ .

Ike was not having it.

His emotions, which he usually successfully bottled inside himself, came bubbling up unbidden. “I don’t find you weak or a burden. I stand by what I say: I will come for you no matter what, no matter who has taken you from my side.” Soren looked up, finally, and the question of ‘why’ was clear on his face. Ike had never been good at keeping his tongue in check while Soren was around; he was just too comfortable around him. “More than gold or glory or Crimea itself, I care for you.”

Words were so inadequate.

Ike was more physical by nature and one arm was enough to wrap around Soren’s waist and pull him close. It was such a comforting feeling, holding him close, and Ike felt some of the tension that had wracked him leaving his body. Soren curved into him and Ike placed his free hand at the base of Soren’s skull.

“Why have you kept your distance then, if you care so much?” Soren’s voice was almost lost in the breadth of Ike’s chest.

It had not occurred to Ike that keeping his distance could have been hurting Soren. “I did not want to…” It seemed foolish to think of his cool, level-headed strategist being frightened of anything, but he had seemed so skittish the past few days since his rescue, “I did not want to startle you. I could not bear having you fear me.”

Even thinking of Soren looking up at him with wide, watering eyes had Ike trembling.

“As if I could fear  _ you _ .” Soren’s hands relaxed so that his hands were pressed flat on Ike’s chest; Ike wondered if Soren could feel his thundering heartbeat. “After all we’ve been through there is only one thing that causes me fear. Being struck by lightning spells, being touched by strange men,” Ike felt as though someone had poured liquid hot iron down his throat, just thinking of those scenarios, “are nothing to me in comparison to being apart from you. I was so...worried that you thought less of me.”

“How could you think--?”

Ike fell silent as Soren rested his head on Ike’s chest. “You wouldn’t--you didn’t  _ hold _ me...like you normally do.” 

Ike made up for lost time.

He held Soren closer, marveling as always how delicate Soren felt in his arms in comparison to how fearsome he was on the battlefield. Soren’s feet dangled a few inches above the marble floors and his slim arms twined around Ike’s neck. He was so incomparably dear.

“It is the same for me.”

Soren pulled back a little so he could see Ike’s expression and Ike adjusted his arm so it rested just below Soren’s buttocks. His expression was sweetly confused. “You need not fear though. You can always find another strategist.”

“It is  _ you _ I want!” Ike protested. “It is you and no one else! No other strategist will do for me, not even the strategists of massive armies. You are a thousand times more valuable to me.” It was clear that Soren was not going to believe him unless Ike did something extreme. He pressed his face into the spot where Soren’s neck met his shoulder. “I  _ love  _ you Soren.”

It bubbled out of him and he felt his face flush with embarrassment. He was not used to being so open with his intimate feelings but he was not going to rescind his statement. He loved Soren and he had loved him for years.

Soren’s crimson eyes were wide as they searched Ike’s face for the lie. 

Ike smiled and cleared some of the black strands of hair from Soren’s eyes. He promised himself he’d start braiding Soren’s hair again. 

“I am pleased that you would...consider me family.”

“It is more than that.” Ike refused to let Soren misunderstand. “You are part of my family and you have been for ages. But,” Ike thought of his most private dreams and how there was only one person who joined him in them, “it is much more than that…”

“Ike--.”

“I  _ love _ you.” He insisted. “I did not misspeak, I am not confused; that is why I’ve dropped everything to find you and bring your home. I love you and I...I don’t want to put you down just yet.” 

Ike measured his breaths, now nervous that he was waiting to hear Soren’s response to his confession. 

Soren stared at him in silence, his mouth slightly agape and Ike momentarily wondered if he had broken Soren’s psyche. Then, quite abruptly, Soren’s ivory pale cheeks turned the color of ripe strawberries. Despite his nervousness, Ike coughed to hide a laugh as the blush spread to Soren’s forehead. Soren jolted, moving forward so that Ike couldn’t see his expression.

“No, no!” Ike tried to pull him back, smiling. “Soren, I can’t see your face. Let me--”

“No!” Soren exclaimed, burying his face in deeper. “You can’t just--you have to give me a...a moment…” Ike obeyed, but was not content to sit still while he waited. He stroked Soren’s silky hair and--after a moment’s deliberation--leaned forward to kiss the top of Soren’s head. He swore Soren’s scalp was a little crimson. 

“Soren.” Ike rested his cheek on Soren’s head. “Do you love me?”

Soren breathed and when he lifted his head the blush had receded to twin spots on his cheeks. His lips twisted but the words finally came out. “Of course I...I’m…” 

Ike knew better than anyone when Soren was going to begin using excuses. He could almost hear Soren insisting that he wasn’t good enough for Ike or that they should kiss once and never speak of it again since there were so many women who would be thrilled to marry Ike and bear his children. Ike did not want any women or their children; he wanted Soren.

He leaned forward and kissed Soren on the mouth.

Ike felt as though his heart might have stopped, the feeling was so lovely, and he pulled back before he got ahead of himself. That the famed general of Crimea could have his heart race over a quick peck on the lips...if he hadn’t been so elated, he might have been embarrassed. Soren’s blush, which he had worked so hard to control, was back with a vengeance stretching all the way from the roots of his hair to the base of his slender neck. Ike was in no position to judge; he was likely just as red. 

A tremble ran down Soren and Ike felt it in his arms. 

“Is...was it...did you like it?” Ike stuttered.

Soren bit his lower lip and nodded. 

It was a better feeling than the first time Ike had successfully parried his father, the first time he had won a battle, and he wanted to do it again. He nudged his chin closer in hopes that Soren would close the distance this time.

He saw Soren’s small adam’s apple bob as he swallowed his nervousness. 

Only Ike’s fine reflexes kept him from receiving a chipped tooth, courtesy of Soren. Soren moved quickly before he lost his nerve and crushed his mouth against Ike’s with exuberance that belied inexperience. Ike caught his cheeks and held him, lest Soren try to devour him. 

Ike had no idea where Soren might have learned such a thing, but Soren’s mouth opened in soft nursings at Ike’s bottom lip. Quite naturally, Ike let his tongue explore and Soren squeaked.

“Sorry, sorry!” Ike pulled back, his face feeling as though it was on fire. The taste of Soren’s mouth was still fresh on his tongue and he felt the sudden urge to take a cold bath lest he start to seriously consider acting out his dreams in this villa. It was neither the time or the place.

“I’m sorry!” Soren was equally flustered, rubbing his thumb across his wet bottom lip. Ike felt like he was about to breathe steam, he so badly wanted to kiss Soren again. Instead they met eyes and started to giggle helplessly. “To think...that I was in such a foul mood only a moment ago and that...something so simple could make me...happier than I’ve ever been before.”

Ike grinned widely; he knew the exact feeling. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t put you down for the foreseeable future. I’ve always wanted to hold you like this.” He closed his eyes in rapture as Soren ran his hands through Ike’s short indigo hair. “And I’m pleased it makes you feel better.”

“I feel safe.” Soren agreed. “As though nothing can touch me.”

“No one is going to take you from me again.” Ike heated up and squeezed Soren a little closer. “I swear it.” 

“I believe you. But let’s leave this room.”

Soren glanced unhappily at the twisted remains of the metal chains and Ike soured slightly. Without setting Soren down, Ike trotted from the room and back down the empty halls of the villa. 

Reyson and Tibarn were no longer entwined in their ‘secluded’ alcove Ike saw tiny puffs of feather down leading down an even darker hallway. He forced himself not to imagine what they would be doing together.

The two of them exited the villa to the main courtyard in the front, free of drunken and celebrating laguz, in order to buy themselves a bit of privacy. Ike had Soren draped across his lap and the two of them alternated between staring at the stars and placing kisses on the closest available body parts.

Ike was fond of kissing the top of Soren’s head and his hands while Soren would daringly kiss the length of Ike’s neck and his exposed collar.

“What are we going to do now, Ike?” Ike felt himself become foolishly happy over something so simple as Soren calling his name and Soren twisted his lips sarcastically. “Are you going to be like this for the rest of time whenever I call your name? Should I call you ‘commander’? Or ‘general’?”

Ike thought he would melt on the spot if Soren call him by one of his official titles and he shifted uncomfortably on the marble step he was seated on. 

“Soren,  _ please _ .”

Soren giggled and it was the sweetest sound Ike had ever heard. “Incorrigible. Answer my question  _ commander _ , please…”

“We’re going home.” Ike said, leaning down.

Under the stars, Ike kissed Soren’s mouth again and delighted in the idea that he could kiss Soren as much as he liked.

 


	12. A Sweet Misunderstanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright lovely readers! Here's an extra long, final, smutty chapter to thank you all for your patience with this story! I can't believe my first IkeSoren fic is over, but it definitely won't be my last ;) I have a new one in the works that I hope to share in early(ish) February!  
> Thank you all for your sweet comments and support of me while writing! I never thought this fandom would still be so active but I'm glad to find a whole group who are still really into these helpless fools haha!   
> Enjoy and I'll see you again soon!

Soren was frustrated.

He was taking out his frustrations on the weeds that were plaguing their vegetable beds and his mood was not at all improved by the warm Crimean sun beating down on the back of his neck and his black robes. He briefly contemplated setting fire to the pile of uprooted plants by his ankles but the thought of accidentally scorching the lettuce stayed his hand.

Two months they had been back in their home in Crimea, paid and fully recovered, but Soren was in turmoil.

He and Ike had been sharing the large bed that had been specially built to accommodate Ike’s impressive frame and Soren was glutted on the kisses that Ike liberally used to lull him to sleep and wake him up. He had everything that he had ever wanted but...he wanted  _ more _ .

Sometimes Ike would braid Soren’s hair or simply slide the strands from his eyes and his rough fingers would brush Soren’s brand by accident. Soren’s entire body would tremble helplessly for want of Ike. Thinking of Ike’s hands on him,  _ in  _ him, his tongue--even now Soren had to stop thinking or he would burn up. He had never wanted anything so much as he had wanted Ike in those moments but he had to settle for more kisses.

If he was being very honest with himself, Soren wished that Ike would take liberties with him in the gentle darkness of the evening. He washed himself thoroughly inside every night and he wanted to tell Ike of these gentle preparations but it was hard to voice such things aloud without feeling like a fool.

He felt like a fire spell had been lit in his hips and was now considering taking it out on the plants.

“Soren!” He looked up to see Mist waving at him from behind the garden fence, a sun hat on her head, a wicker basket of grapes on her hip. “Will you go tell my brother that dinner is in an hour and a half?”

Soren got to his feet, wiping the dust off of his knees. “Where is he?”

“Stables.” 

Soren tossed pile of weeds in the fabric of his robes to be given to the goats and walked to the warm, quiet interior of the Greil Mercenary stables. He almost fainted at the sliding doors when he got a decent look inside. 

Ike was forking hay into the horse’s stalls, the dust of it coating his shoulders like powdered gold. His arms were bare and his thin undershirt was sticking to the impressive planes of his body and his blue hair was loose, making him look young and boyish and carefree. A wave of pure love and desire, like the direct hit of a Bolting spell, hit Soren hard enough to make him weak at the knees. He gripped the wood of the barn door to keep from sinking to the floor.

He wanted Ike viscerally, more so than air or water, and he felt it strongly in his crotch. 

Ike caught sight of Soren as he was attempting to compose himself and his smile was bright and delighted. “Soren.” He set the pitchfork down, his shoulders and arms bulging attractively, and Soren remembered what it felt like to have those arms wrapping around him, squeezing him close.

Soren threw himself forward and heard the soft clatter as Ike dropped the pitchfork in favor of reaching for Soren. Strong arms wrapped around his waist and Soren’s expression must have given away because Ike’s mouth crushed against his the moment Soren turned his face up. Ike’s tongue slipped into his mouth, seeming to fill it entirely, and Soren allowed Ike to simply hold him up, his legs straddling the muscle’s of Ike’s thigh. 

Ike kissed Soren’s nose and smiled. “What a reward for feeding the horses. I should do it more often.”

“The horses will be too fat to ride. We can hardly afford the added expense of more hay either. And--” he paused noting that Ike was close to laughter over Soren’s particular brand of romanticism. “What?”

“Nothing makes me love you more than hearing you speak of company finances. Pray, don’t stop on my account.”

Ike used his fingers to clear the hair from Soren’s eyes and the tip of his pinkie grazed Soren’s brand. Soren shifted his hips on Ike’s leg wishing he could crush them closer without giving his...feelings away.

“Must you... _ vex _ me?” Soren pouted, only allowing himself such an indulgent and childish feeling in front of Ike.

“How on earth could I ever vex  _ you _ ?” Ike pressed Soren’s face to his broad chest so he could easily kiss the top and side of Soren’s head. “My unflappable strategist.” He nuzzled at Soren’s collar and Soren felt a lump in his throat to match the one in his trousers. 

“You do.” Soren insisted, splaying his hands across Ike’s back. He was awash in the pleasant smell of Ike’s skin. “You tease me, you waste our resources, and you...and you never go further than kissing me.”

Ike paused and Soren felt a good bit of him stiffen in surprise. “What?”

Soren pulled back to gauge the emotions in Ike’s beloved blue eyes and his tongue twisted. When his voice came out it was very soft and small. “You only...kiss me until I…” He thought about how he would twist and turn in the sheets until he calmed down or found relief in the friction. “But you never touch me further as...as a lover would.” 

In Bishop Oliver’s villa, Soren had taken advantage of his fine library and found... _ certain  _ books tucked aside for any unsuspecting guest’s viewing pleasure. Soren did not know that hips could twist at such an angle, but he had left feeling very well-instructed. 

Ike’s face was a little red as he tried to come up with an appropriate response. “I-I…” 

Soren felt his eyes go wide with fear; he had never considered that Ike might not want to do such things with him, that kissing might be enough for him. “Do you not... _ want  _ me?” Something even more horrifying came to mind, “Is it because you saw me...like  _ that _ ?” Enslaved, helpless, useless; what a filthy sight it must have been.

Soren must have looked like he was going to bolt--and he was considering it--because Ike pulled him closer, blocking off escape. “Wait, wait! You caught me off guard, Soren! Don’t run. Please, don’t run.” He buried his face and one of his hands in Soren’s hair. “As if I could think less of you. You are...the most precious to me.” His big hands trembled. “ _ I want you so badly I could scream _ .” 

Soren pushed his palms through Ike’s lovely hair. “Why? Why won’t you touch me?”

“Look at me!” Ike pulled back and his expression was anguished and guilty. “Look at me; you’re so slender. I don’t want to hurt you. I would die before I frightened you. I had to wait until you wanted it.” The chip of hope in his eyes was so sweet, Soren was overcome. “You...you  _ want  _ it?”

It was so embarrassing to say aloud. 

But Soren couldn’t lie to this beautiful man he adored. He bit his bottom lip and nodded quickly. 

He wanted Ike to make love to him.

Ike did not waste any time. His mouth was hot and breathless and desperate as he kissed Soren’s mouth to a pulp. Soren, emboldened, rubbed his hips in circles, staggering his breaths so he did not moan wantonly. He jolted as one of Ike’s hands slid under his robes and undershirt and found the bare skin of his lower back. It inched lower toward the waistband of his trousers. 

“Where do we go?” Soren gasped, wanting his clothes off immediately. He was thinking quickly and remembered that their home was full of unwelcome interlopers for anyone who wanted any sort of privacy. He was positive that no sooner than Ike would have his pants off, Boyd would walk into the room for some inane reason and ruin the mood. Ike looked like he was considering the same scenario. 

Sometimes he was the better strategist for his simplicity. “Hayloft?”

Soren had not even finished nodding when Ike swung him up over his shoulder. Soren had always been weak to those feats of strength and he felt his toes curl a little as Ike climbed easily, as if unencumbered by the weight of another human. Upon reaching the top, Soren was tossed backward into the soft pile of hay and he subtly began to pull at his sashes to loosen them; he wanted no delays for Ike undressing him. 

He nestled back into the warm hay, a little shocked by the fire in Ike’s eyes. 

“I’ll be gentle.” He promised, catching Soren by the ankle.

“You don’t have to.” 

Ike removed his shirt in one easy motion, revealing his staggering musculature, before tearing the sandals from Soren’s feet. “Don’t...enflame me, Soren. I...it would cut into our finances if I ripped your clothes and we had to buy you new ones.” Soren laughed aloud, a rare thing for him, at Ike turning back his logic on him.

Ike smiled back at him and then went back to stripping them both. 

Soren lifted his hips so Ike could pull off his pants and his belt and sash followed not long after. Soren only became self-conscious, curling in on himself, when he was left in his long white undershirt. Ike was staring unabashedly, his eyes locked on Soren’s legs. As Ike’s hands slid up the length of Soren’s calves, Soren tried to push the hem of his shirt down to cover as much of his legs as possible.

“Soren, show me.” Ike wheedled. He closed his eyes and pressed his face, forehead to lips, flush against the skin of Soren’s leg. “Please, Soren, show me.” 

Only his great love for Ike would allow him to do something so profoundly embarrassing. Though the inner muscles of his thighs fluttered like hummingbird’s wings, though his cheeks felt like they were in flames, he bent his knees and spread his legs as far apart as they would go. He felt the breeze of Ike’s breath as he exhaled and the pads of Ike’s thumbs pressed into the soft skin of his thighs. He cracked one eye open.

Ike was staring at him, hazy-eyed and drunk, his lips wet. “ _ Oh _ ... _ beautiful _ .”

Before Soren could gain control of his own thoughts, Ike moved forward with an open mouth and a look like he was about to consume the sweetest thing on earth. Soren’s legs bounced, his mouth moving without making noise, as Ike suckled at the thinnest, most delicate skin of his body. It was better than anything he could ever have imagined, those lips, that  _ tongue _ wrapping around him and tasting him with the most delicate ministrations. And Ike had a big mouth. 

As Soren’s hands gripped tufts of Ike’s hair and he found his voice as his knees drummed the wood of the barn loft floor. “I-Ike! Ike! Oh,  _ gods _ ! Ike! It’s t-too much!” It was better than the practiced skin of his palm or the soft nap of his blankets that he sometimes rubbed between his legs when the campfire burned low.

Ike did not seem to listen or care, as he was too engrossed with running his tongue up the length of Soren, nuzzling the tip of his tongue at the top of Soren’s cock. The feeling was so delicious, Soren could only toss his head back into the stack of hay and wail Ike’s name, tears of abject pleasure rolling down his cheeks. 

No matter how much he called Ike’s name to try and warn him, Ike continued to lick and suckle Soren until he was coming harder and faster than he ever had before. 

His vision went a hazy gold as a roll of pleasure rippled from the tip of his nose all the way down to his toes. Ike continued to suckle softly until the tremors subdued and Soren went limp. There was hay in Soren’s hair and he felt as though he would not be able to move his limbs for the next day but he did not care. 

Ike had pulled back and wiped his lips with the back of his arms but he still had that hazy, feverish look in his eyes as he surveyed the havoc he had wrought on Soren’s body. He shed his trousers in one easy motion, tossing it onto the pile of hay; Soren snagged it and pressed the cloth to his face, holding onto it in hopes it would anchor him to the earth. 

Warm hands gripped his hips and Soren was flipped over onto his stomach. Before he could catch his breath from the quick motion, he felt that familiar warm tongue trace the curve of his buttocks. Warm hands pulled him apart and Soren nearly smothered himself in Ike’s shirt as the tongue went  _ in _ . It went in deep, waving up and down in lazy curves that had Soren drooling.

“Soap?” Ike asked, his voice amazed.

“I’ve w-washed…every day i-in case…”

“ _ Gods _ !” Ike groaned. “I’m a fool. That all your hard work has gone to waste. I’ll make amends.” 

Soren was begging, pleading for Ike and Ike got even closer, even deeper with the thickest part of his tongue. He had always prided himself on his excellent control over his body and emotions but Ike had him unravelling. 

Ike tossed Soren’s legs over his shoulders and they bounced helplessly, his toes curling as the lapping continued for what felt like ages. The pleasure was coming in such thick, endless waves that Soren didn’t realize what a mess his waist was until Ike pulled back and smugly surveyed his handiwork. 

A viscous puddle was dripping steadily from Soren’s hips, dribbling down his backside and pooling on the nest of hay below.

He did not even have time to be embarrassed about what a mess he was. Ike was too quick for him. 

Before Soren could hide his face in Ike’s shirt, Ike had moved so he was nestled in the hay and Soren straddling his lap. One massive hand cleared the sweaty strands from Soren’s gaze and Ike smiled in a way Soren had never seen before. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered reverently and Soren blushed.

“As if you can--you’re so attractive; it drives me--”

“Really? You think so?” Ike sounded inordinately pleased as he nuzzled at Soren’s jaw and throat.

“You m-must be  _ joking _ !” Soren gasped as he felt one thumb circling his nipple, two fingers rubbing his still-slick hole. “You don’t notice people  _ approaching _ you,  _ staring _ at you?” He left it unsaid how every interaction left him awash in jealousy as the two fingers plunged gently inside him.  

Ike leaned very close until his lips brushed the curve of Soren’s ear. “I care for the gaze of only one man.”

Though Soren could admittedly miss some of Ike’s more obvious romantic cues, he was under no illusions as to who Ike was referring to. He felt his face burn as Ike moved back to kiss his mouth and he clamped his teeth gently on Ike’s tongue as the fingers continued. His hips wiggled.

“Feels good?” Ike asked. An innocent enough question but his eyes were hazy from wanting to hear Soren’s reply. 

It was good and uncomfortable in a way Soren could not even begin to describe. He threw his arms around Ike’s neck and pulled the man close. “I-It...it’s ticklish. Not like m-my fingers at all.” He had not even thought of the danger of admitting such an embarrassing thing aloud. 

Ike groaned and rested his head on Soren’s shoulder. “You are...I hope you’re alright with missing dinner. Tonight and tomorrow...and the night after. We’re not leaving this hayloft.”

Soren didn’t argue. 

He was fine with being alone with Ike for days on end, his embarrassment over being caught having been lost over his desire to have Ike crush him close. “S-So long as y-you’re... _ gentle _ .” 

“ _ Fuck _ …” Ike cursed softly, his fingers trembling.

Ike was normally so controlled, so untouchable, it was impossible not to feel a sense of superiority as Soren felt Ike’s heart thundering in his chest. He shifted his hips lower, rocking slightly against Ike’s fingers. His brand throbbed on his forehead.

He pressed Ike’s free hand to the raised skin there and almost came again as Ike traced it with his thumb while he began to inch himself inside. The slight throbbing of being stretched was drowned out by the ecstasy of Ike touching the sensitive skin of his brand. 

When Ike paused to breathe, Soren also reveled in the new sensations. 

He was shaky, wrung dry, and yet also full and tight; one touch and he might burst apart at the seams. “Ike, Ike…”

“A-Are you ok?” Ike looked at Soren, his expression intense. “Does it...does it hurt? Should we--should I wait?” He had such a sweet, hazy look in his eyes, his desire outright, and Soren could not imagine stopping when this was the most satisfying sensation he had ever experienced. 

He crushed himself up against Ike’s chest, gasping as a good inch of Ike slid from him. Even so, there was plenty left inside. “Don’t stop! Ike, please don’t stop.” He whined softly as Ike thrust back in, one hand resting lightly on Soren’s behind. “ _ Please _ !” Soren crushed his forehead into Ike’s hand, his brand hot to the touch.

At least Ike did not need to be coaxed.

Soren clenched his hands in Ike’s indigo hair and held on for dear life as Ike rocked his powerful hips up against Soren’s. Soren did not think he could get any deeper, but...then again he had always been impressed by how big Ike was. In all areas.

Soren’s wails were soft and breathy as Ike established a comfortable pace, his thighs shaking against Soren’s. Ike’s hands traced Soren’s body--down his back and arms and legs, over his hips and brand and cock--his mouth unable to stay still. “Is it good? Does it feel good? Soren...Soren, I love you. I love you.”

Soren crushed his lips against Ike’s, too overwhelmed to even respond. It was the best way to convey his feelings. 

Soren rode Ike in quick circles; he had never been the most athletic and his thighs were already trembling from exertion. Ike was gasping as he yanked Soren closer his thrusts so intense that Soren was sure his ass would be bruised in the morning. Soren was wholly unprepared for Ike in the throes of pleasure. 

A bolt of something intense flashed in his blue eyes and Soren knew that his lover was close. 

In one quick motion, Ike had one hand pulling Soren apart so he could thrust  _ even deeper _ , his other hand stroking Soren in time with his thrusts. Soren shrieked, his fingers digging into Ike’s shoulders as Ike’s tongue pressed onto his brand. 

“ _ Ike _ ! Ike,  _ please _ !”

Since Soren did not specify what he wanted Ike to do exactly, Ike continued to stroke and suckle at Soren until Soren’s toes were digging into the warm hay and his throat was aching from his cries. His eyelashes fluttered as he spilled hot on Ike’s hand and stomach but Ike did not seem to notice or care. He kept his hands on Soren, his tongue soothing the heat of Soren’s brand, until he too was shuddering and heat pooled inside Soren. 

A few shaky, tender kisses and Ike was falling backward into the hay, pulling Soren with him. His heartbeat was still loud in his chest and his cock had only softened the slightest inside Soren but Soren was content. Even more so when Ike began to run his lips over Soren’s perspiring temples and cheeks and lips. 

“Ike.” Soren nuzzled into him, his body jolting as Ike brushed a sensitive spot inside of him. “We’re fools. We should have done this  _ ages _ ago.” He was calculating all the nights and rare lazy afternoons and quiet mornings in their tents where they could have been drowning in this pleasure instead of pining away alone. 

Ike laughed; it was clearly not the post-coital conversation he had expected. “I agree. We have a lot to make up for.” 

Soren rested his hands on the impressive planes of Ike’s stomach and marveled at how the man was his, all his, how he would be waking up to this view daily. 

He buried his face in Ike’s chest to hide his smile.

“Do you love me, Soren?” Ike asked, gentle and hopeful. Soren felt himself blush.

“You already know…”

“No, no I don’t, I’ve forgotten Soren.” Ike wheedled as he stroked Soren’s hair. “Tell me you love me. Please.” Soren felt Ike harden inside of him and knew he was enjoying flustering Soren. 

“Is this going to be a bad habit of yours?”

Gentle, large hands tilted Soren’s face up and Soren was confronted with the sight he liked best: Ike smiling and flushed, with his hair in disarray as he stared only at Soren. “I love you. I love you Soren.” He kissed Soren’s mouth so softly that Soren would have burnt the world for him in that moment. “Tell me, please.”

Soren leaned forward to whisper it; only Ike would hear his embarrassed confession. 

Ike looked inordinately pleased. “Thank you.”

In a smooth roll, Soren was resting in the hay, Ike cradling him so they could kiss lightly. Breaths were interspersed with Ike whispering more ‘I love you’s and Soren gasping as Ike grew inside of him. Soren moved his hips a little more, surprised that he still had energy for more and Ike groaned in approval. 

“Ike!”

Soren jolted, his lips separating from Ike’s with a soft pop. Soren squeaked as Ike curled around him protectively as he sat up--somehow his cock managed to stay snugly inside of Soren--and he glared at the half-open window of the hayloft.

“Ike, dinner!” 

They both relaxed at the familiar sound of Mist’s voice and Ike pressed his hand softly on the small of Soren’s back. Soren squeaked again as the movement pushed Ike in deeper. Ike kissed the side of Soren’s head, “I’ll handle it.”

Soren clutched Ike closer, hoping that he wouldn’t cut this pleasure short to eat.

Ike swiped his shirt and wrapped it around Soren, the size of it effectively hiding him from view, before getting to his feet. The feeling of being hoisted into the air was so delicious that Soren’s legs clamped around Ike’s waist. “Easy, easy…” Easier said than done when each step had Soren wanting to scream for Ike to take him back to the hay and...and do it  _ properly _ . 

Instead Ike covered the distance to the half-open window in a few steps and kept Soren in the shadows, out of view.

“Fool!” Mist laughed, “Are you feeding the animals without your shirt on?”

“I--yes. Listen, Soren and I are skipping dinner tonight.”

There was a long, pregnant pause where Mist clearly deduced what was happening Soren shook his head over Ike’s ridiculous transparency. “I...I understand! I’ll tell everyone that you won’t be back for dinner. And to stay clear of the stables.” The smug smile was clear in her voice and Ike flushed dark, only now realizing that Mist was not so easily duped.

Ike closed the window and looked down at Soren, who was laughing into the fabric of Ike’s shirt. It did unusual things to his insides.

“You’re beautiful when you laugh.” Ike whispered.

“You don’t need me as a tactician, since you’ve bought us time until breakfast.” Soren said. “And so skillfully as well.” Ike kissed his forehead and nose and lips. “Now will you take me back to the haystack?”

Ike pressed Soren’s back firmly against the warm wood of the barn. “Not yet. I cannot wait that long.”

Soren found that he could not wait either. He had been waiting for ages for this and now they had all the time in the world. He grinned at Ike like a fool and was delighted when Ike returned it with a smile of his own. 

_ Ike was his _ . All his. 

 


End file.
